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MEMOIR 



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PROFESSOR OE INTELLECTUAL AND MORAL 



PHILOSOPHY 



IN AMHERST COLLEGE j 



TOGETHER WITH SELECTIONS FROM HIS 



SERMONS AND OTHER WRITINGS, 



BY Hv HUMPHREY, D. D 



AMHEBST : 
PUBLISHED BY J. S. AND C. ADAMS. 

boston: PHILLIPS, SAMPSON AND CO. NEW YORE 

M. H. NEWMAN AND CO. 

1850. 




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Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 

1849, by J. S. & C. Adams, in the 
Clerk's Office in the District Court of Massachusetts. 



PREFACE. 



Having drawn up as condensed a Menioir of my 
lamented friend and former associate as I could, in 
justice to his talents and virtues, and made such selec- 
tions from his sermons and other writings, as I thought 
would give the truest portrait of his intellect and his 
heart and be most acceptable to his numerous acquaint- 
ances, especially to the many hundreds of graduates 
who were blessed with his instructions in the class 
room, and heard his discourses in the College Chapel ; 
I now submit the volume to the candid judgment of 
an enlightened public. It is put forth, under the una- 
voidable disadvantages of lacking the revision and 5?/- 
pervision of the author. Not one of the sermons 
which it contains, was ever printed till now, and not 
one of them, I presume, was considered by him, as 
prepared for the press. Had they come out in his life- 
time and under his own critical eye, they might, in 
some respects, have received a finish, which post- 
humous editorship cannot give them. 

But I will venture to say, that very few manuscripts, 
not revised and intended for publication, can be found 
among the papers of a deceased scholar of the highest 
reputation, needing less revision than those of Professor 
Fiske. In looking them carefully over, I have been 
surprised to find how few corrections, even of the 
most trifling nature, could be made, without injuring the 



IV PREFACE. 

€opy, as he left it. Some of his sermons are very 
much interlined, to be sure ; and although ninety-nine 

out of a hundred readers would have said that the 
first draft needed no revision, it is obvious from a care- 
ful comparison of what is struck out with what is sub- 
stituted, that nearly every correction is a real improve- 
ment. There is scarcely a collocation in the manu- 
script, which could be changed without impairing the 
strength or beauty of the sentence ; and the most fas- 
tidious critic might almost be challenged to point out a 
single loose extemporaneous sentence in twenty pages. 
There are no superfluous words and no words are 
wanting. 

I have said in the Memoir, that Professor Fiske, in 
the popular sense of the term, had but little imagina- 
tion. I should not wonder, if some of his admirers 
were to differ from me on this point ; and I must con- 
fess, that a more careful reading of his journal and dis- 
courses has led me to suspect, that I have not given 
him due credit in that particular. I still think, how- 
'ever, that his fancy lacked the wings which sometimes 
bear writers much inferior to him, above his ran^-e : 
but if by imagination is meant vividness of conception, 
and the power of presenting images vividly to other 
minds, Professor Fiske cer^tainly was not deficient. I 
have inserted extracts from his voyage, in the Memoir, 
of extraordinary vivacity and beauty. 

It may be thought by some, that his sermons, though 
admirable models of lucid arrangement and cogent 
reasoning, have too much of a metaphysical cast for 
common readers; and it cannot be denied, that they 



PREFACE. "^ 

deal more with the elements and first principles of 
moral and intellectual science, than common pulpit 
discourses. But it should be borne in mind, that they 
were most of them written for the College Chapel. 
Had Professor Fiske been a pastor for a few years, his 
sermons would undoubtedly have embraced a wider 
range of topics, and would have been somewhat less 
scholastic in their structure. But they could not have 
been more direct and impressive. The definitions are so 
exact, the statem.ents are so definite, the analyses are 
so clear, and the reasoning is so lucid, that any person 
of ordinary abilities and mental culture, can take in 
the scope of every paragraph and feel the power by 
which he is, as it were, irresistibly borne along from 
step to step to the conclusion. It certaioly requires 
more attention to read Professor Fiske's sermons, than 
many others ; but they are worth a great deal more 
when you have got through ; and moreover, they are so 
attractive in style and thought and cogency, that the 
attention of the reader is more easily fastened upon 
them. Impressive and convincing as they were in the 
delivery, they have this advantage in print, that where 
any statement or argument requires reflection, it can be 
held under consideration, or read over again at pleas- 
ure. The intelligent hearer or reader of sermons 
loves to have something that is suggestive ; something 
that he had not thought of before, or that he had not 
viewed in the same light ; and though it vi/ill be some- 
what difterent with hearers not accustomed to think 
closely, yet after they have sat for some time under 
highly intellectual preaching, (provided always it m 



Vi PREFACE. 

clear), will greatly prefer it to loose and random decla- 
mation, however animating or captivating at first. 

There has grown up in the public mind, a strange 
prejudice against volumes of printed sermons. The 
discourses of distinguished preachers, which, if thrown 
into articles for some popular Quarterly, would be ea- 
gerly read and much talked of, are often coldly receiv- 
ed when they come from the press, labelled with ap- 
propriate texts of Scripture. " They may be well 
enough for the pulpit, but they are nothing but ser- 
mons, and we can hear them every Sabbath in the year." 
This, with many, is the " short method " of disposing of 
such volumes. The taste for religious reading, how- 
ever, I think is undergoing a gradual change. Printed 
sermons of real merit are more inquired for than they 
v^exQ a few years ago. That those of Professor Fiske 
in this volume will be favorably received, and the more 
they are read will be the more valued, I feel strongly 
assured. Many others of perhaps equal micrit might 
have been inserted, had there been room for them. 

With fervent supplications to Almighty God, that 
the " Remains " of a writer and preacher, which were 
so highly appreciated by the most cultivated minds while 
he was living, may now that he is dead, minister richly 
to the mental and spiritual improvement of every reader, 
I commend them to the perusal of the candid and en- 
lightened of every class, who, I am sure, will place them 
on the same shelf with their most favorite religious 
authors. 

H. HUMPHPvEY. 

Fittsfield, Nov. 1849. 



CONTENTS. 



Page. 

His birth and childhood, 9 

Commencement of his journal, . - . - . lo 

His aversion to vital religion, 13 

Eevival in Dartmouth College and his share in the saving 

work of the Spirit, ------- 14 

United with the College church, ----- 21 

Took his bachelors degree, went to Maine and returned to 

Hanover, --- 22 

Went from Dartmouth to Andover, --.-.. 23 

Went from Andover to Savannah, ------ 23 

His missionary labors there, .-..-- 24 

Eeturn and answers to divers applications, - - - 26 
Elected Professor of Languages and Ehetoric in Amherst 

College, and entered upon its duties, - - - - 27 

His marriage, labors and bereavements, . - - - 29 

Precarious state of his own health, . - . . - 33 

Embarks for the Mediterranean, ----- 37 
Extracts from his journal while on the voyage and in the ports 

at which he touched — Gibi-altar, Malta, Smyrna, Athens, 

and Constantinople, -'------ 37 

Arrival at Beirut, -- 52 

Extracts from his journal while there, ----- 52 

Journey to Jerusalem, ------- 57 

Account of his sickness and death, ----- 6,0 

Reflections upon his death, -----. 73 

Brief estimate of his character and talents, - - - - 75 

As a scholar, -------- 79 

As a teacher and College officer, - - - - - 84 

As a preacher, -------. 87 

In his family, ..-- go 

As a friend, 91 

As a Christian, -- 92 

Conclusion, • 94 



Viii CONTENTS'. 

SERMON I. 
Spiritual Liberty, ^'^ 

SERMON II. 
The Author of Regeneration, - - - -- l^^ 

SERMON III. 
The Ways of resisting the Holy Spirit, - » - - ISS 

SERMON IV. 
The Character of God the Christian Standard of Excellence, 148 

SERMON V. 
Irreligion not owing to Want of Evidence, „ - - 162 

SERMON VI. 
Analysis of ConsciencGj - = - ° - ° - 1^4 

SERMON VII. 
Conscience as an Organ of Punishment, - - - - 195 

SERMON VIII. ^ 
The Wonderfulness of Man's Mental ConstitutioKj - - 214 

SERMON IX, 
The Eearfulness of Man's Mental Constitution, - » - 236 

SERMON X. 
Renunciation of the World, ....»-« 251 

SERMON XI. 
Belief in Mysteries, »..,-o= 271 

SERMON XII. 

The Holiness of God, 288 

- SERMON XIII. 

I rememher all their Wickedness, - - - » . 300 

ADDRESS AT EAST WINDSOR. 

The Value of Mental Philosophy to the Minister of the 

Gospel, ---.„---- S13 

LECTURE. 
Unity of History and Providence, - - - . - S63 



MEMOIR 



OF 



EV. NATHAN W. FISKE 



Nathan W. Fiske -was born in Weston, Mass., April 
17th, 1798. His father, a native, I believe, of that town, 
was a farmer of substance, and respectable standing in the 
communitj. His mother was the daughter of Hon, Isaac 
Stearns of Billerica, and a consistant professor of " the faith 
once delivered to the saints." His maternal grand parents, 
were professors " of like precious faith," adorning the doc- 
trines of God our Savior, and walking together as heirs of 
the grace of life" 

To the first entries in a journal which he commenced in 
his Sophomore year at College, and which he kept with long- 
er or shorter intervals till about a month before his death, we 
are chiejfly indebted, for reminiscences of his boyhood, A 
member of the family, nearest to his own age, recollects, that 
while very young, he was fond of reading story books ; that 
he got his lessons in school so easily, as to have too much time 
for play and boyish mischief; that he was sly and seldom de- 
tected ; that he secured the good will of his teachers, to such a 

2 



10 MEMOIR. 

degree as often to excite the jealousy of other boys. " I rec- 
ollect, that in one instance, when a lad was threatened with 
punishment, for some trick in school, he said to the teacher, 
JS'athan was as much to blame as I was, and \iyou don't lick 
Mm I will P He was always lively, busy, fond of frolic and 
play, — not so much of rough and violent play with other boySj 
as of mimics, puzzles and the like. I think that up to the 
age of nine^ he showed more of a mechanical taste and ge- 
nius, than fondness for books. He had a little trunk of 
tools, and spent hours in making little chairs, tables and car- 
riages from shingles, twigs and other materials, together 
with water wheels, boats, &c." 

This is about all I have been able to gather from his fam- 
ily, of Fiske's habits and turn of mind, while yet in early 
boyhood ; but happily the deficiency is pretty well supplied 
in the journal, to which I have already alluded, in which^ 
at irregular intervals, sometimes daily, sometimes weekly, 
he recorded the more prominent epochs and incidents of his 
life, and from which, as a sort of auto-biography, I shall 
have occasion to make large extracts in drawing up the 
present Memoir. 

"April 18, 1818. Yesterday I completed my twentieth 
year. It strikes my mind that it may be both gratifying and 
useful, to review this period, so far as memory furnishes the 
power. Of the time previous to my tenth year, I recollect 
but few circumstances or events. I wa^ early instructed in 
the rudiments of learning, and became acquainted with read- 
ing, spelling, grammar and geography. Some tokens of 
approbation and praise were occasionally received from my 
instructors. I recollect but few instances of contending 
with my school mates in feats of agility or power, but many, 
in the exercise of spelling and committing tasks. I began 
to be fond of reading. Tom Thumb was enchanting. My 
mind w^ould grasp enough of De Foe's production to be 



MEMOIR. 11 

cliarmed. Happy for me, if I had at this time enjoyed the 
guidance of some competent tutor. But I had none. My 
parents were unlearned and had no library. Instead of be- 
ing pointed to the vast treasures of the intellectual vforld, 
for better substance, I was stuffed with flattery. (Not by 
his parents it is presumed, but by others.) A nd the case 
was the same, till I exchanged the quietness of domestic 
study, for the more noisy scenes of public education. But 
the injurious effects did not cease even then. A vanity 
had become mixed with the better elements of my mental 
constitution, which has ever since been r. ?ad obstacle, both 
to my mental improvement and my hap^. laess. If this has 
produced effects partially good, it has also produced effects 
positively evil. It may have excited exertions which with- 
out it had not been made, but it has caused exertion of every 
kind, to be in a measure superficial. 

" I must not forget, that at this early period, the rudi- 
ments of morality and religion were instilled into my mind. 
My Mother educated me in this respect, as every pious wo- 
man will educate her children. Her labor was not lost. I 
have been in situations, where the revival of impressions she 
had fixed in my mind, was under divine direction, the only 
safeguard against the destructive influence of example and 
inclination. 

" Toward the close of my tenth year, a new employment 
was accidentally presented to my mind, and a new color giv- 
en to the character of my future life. A cousin, then just 
graduated from Harvard College, and commencing the study 
of divinity, put into my hand the Latin Grammar, I had 
nearly finished it, before the circumstance was known to my 
father. So far was it then from being his design to bless 
me with a liberal education, that I had not the least assur- 
ance he would, till many years after. The consequence was, 
that through the whole of this period, till my admission to 



12 MEMOIR. 

College, witli the exception of the last year, my education 
progressed rather listlessly, without much aim, and with fre- 
quent interruption. In the winters, I pursued the study of 
Latin, Geography and Arithmetic In the summers, I at- 
tended a female school, or labored on the farm with my fa- 
ther, as he had occasion to call me. One of these summers 
was spent to little purpose, in making pictures. Most of the 
year, however, preceding my going to college, was spent at 
Framingham in preparatory studies. 

"In September, 1813, at the age of 15, I entered Dart- 
mouth College. A new field was now presented to my view. 
For the first year, I saw little but its surface. A world in 
miniature vv^as before me, variety of books, varieties of char- 
acters. But I hurried along, as an ignorant person does 
through a gallery of paintings, after glancing at one, impa- 
tient to view the next. The truth was, I had entered col- 
lege without any aim. I had therefore prescribed to my- 
self no course of conduct. In such a place, a social disposi- 
tion, with the vivacity and the vanity of youth, could not be 
W'ithout occupation. And while by my boyish lightness, I 
seemed to promise the ambitious and the envious that I 
should be no rival to them, and to the designing, that I 
should never obstruct tlieir schemes, I was in some meas- 
ure caressed. It was at this critical period, that the mater- 
nal instructions alluded to, were so important to my welfare. 
I was fiuttering along on the confines of dissipation. They 
enabled me to escape the vortex. 

'' I can recollect few instances of conduct during this pe- 
riod, that would receive from man a more reproachful name 
than follies of youth, though entirely condemned by the 
more sacred authority of the divine law. But at the close 
of the first year, the charm of being a lively boy began to 
break. I had always performed the tasks assigned me, and 
my mind consequently had gained some increment of 



MEMOIR. 13 

strengtli. From occasional tasting, I had found the sweets 
of literature too delicious to be forgotten. Every new grat- 
ification both unfolded new sources of enjoyment and in- 
creased the power and desire of making them my own. My 
second year, therefore, commenced with new exertions. 
These were condemned by others, as labor for petty college 
distinctions. They were, however, the mere cravings of a 
mind, beginning to feel new energy in itself, and to seek 
gratification in exciting that energy to action. But this 
change, in Providence, was only preparatory to a still great- 
er and happier one, about to be effected. " 

Though there is nothing very remarkable in these rem- 
iniscences of young Fiske, and we find no feigns of precocity 
in them, we see that he must have been apt to learn in his 
childhood, and that he had an early thirst for knowledge. 
Near the close of the spring term in his sophomore year, 
1815, there was a powerful revival in Dartmouth College, 
the following notice of which, of his opposition to it at first, 
and of his own ultimate share in its rich blessings, I copy 
from his journal. 

" Carefully as I had been instructed in the principles of 
religion, and firmly as I believed its truth, I was yet a total 
stranger, yea a bitter enemy to its vital power. The man- 
ual of my mother's instructions was the Westminstei^ Cate- 
chism. One of its doctrines, that of the blessed Trinity, had 
never been eradicated from my breast. Its other distinctive 
important doctrines had long been rejected, rejected, I be- 
lieve, before my mother had ceased to inculcate them from 
her text book. It was at least so early, that I do not recol- 
lect my age, though I well remember my reasoning at the 
time. I was reading in a book of sermons. I recollect 
nothing of the book, but that an attempt was made in one of 
the sermons, to show that the doctrine of election does not 
encourage licentiousness. I know not that I had previous 

2* 



14 MEMOIR. 

to this, tliought upon tlie doctrine, or the natural effects of a 
belief of its truth. But now, the objection which the author 
of the sermons was laboring to answer, seemed a full refu- 
tation of it. A doctrine which plainly declares to its vota- 
ries, if you are to be saved, or if you are to be damned, you 
will be, do what you may, could not be true. But I soon 
saw, that to reject this was, to reject all the doctrines of 
grace, and I became a little giant in reasoning against them. 
I sometimes disputed with pious persons. They appeared 
abject and slavish, for they distrusted their reason and de- 
pended on scripture. I prided myself that I reasoned^ and 
would not put out the infallible light within me. But a 
merciful Savior was about to show me, that my speculations 
originated not from an acute reason, but from a depraved 
heart. The admirer of nature has often noticed the mo- 
tionless calm that sometimes precedes the refreshing shower 
of summer, when all things seem to wait in silent gratitude 
for the blessing, which a secret inspiration has told them is 
approaching. Early in my second year, a similar but more 
solemn and majestic calm indicated a shower of divine 
grace. The drops fell before I was aware of the approach 
of the shower. 

" On the 29th of April, the outpouring of the Spirit was 
first manifested, though I knew nothing of it, till the 2d of 
May. The next sabbath. Professor P. delivered a sermon 
which had considerable effect, and must I record it ! alas ! 
it is already recorded, where nought but the finger of God 
can erase it, I whispered and laughed, while he was preach- 
ing. Yes, in the holy sanctuary and in the immediate pres- 
ence of God did I do this. Why, O why was I not cut off, 
in the midst of my abominations. At the conference that 
evening. Edwards' sermon on Deut 32 : 35, Thy feet shall 
slide ill due time, was read. This produced a powerful 
effect. Monday, the work of the Lord increased. The con- 



MEMOIK. 15 

ference in the evening, (I understood,) was very full, and 
many were earnestly inquiring the way to Zion. I was pre- 
sent at none of these meetings, and had attended but one 
conference during the spring. Tuesday morning, 1 was told 
that many in College and many of my classmates had be- 
come quite serious. I ridiculed the thing, and ascribed it to 
sinister motives. But seeing it increase and prosper won- 
derfully, I then considered it as the work of imagination, 
and proceeding solely from sympathy and passion. In this 
opinion I remained, till Friday night, treating this glorious 
work, with levity and contempt. Why did not the spirit, 
grieved at my resistance, depart and leave me to a repro- 
bate mind ? " God is rich in mercy." A week elapsed, 
before I attended one of the many meetings which were ap- 
pointed. I went then, mainly because a classmate some- 
what tauntingly had said to me, " You are afraid to go." I 
would prove him mistaken. 

" Friday night, I had some conversation with classmate 
Temple, which brought me to reflect a little on the subject, 
and I was soon persuaded, that it was the spirit of God 
which caused this change. I attended a prayer meeting in 
the evening and was somewhat impressed, but having re- 
turned to my room and reflected on my past conduct, I 
thought it would be an everlasting disgrace to me, that it 
would prove me 'weak and fickle-minded, to yield to these 
impressions, when I had treated them so long with ridicule. 
This temptation, this snare of the devil succeeded admirably. 
I determined to throw them all by, and show myself a man 
of independence and spirit! and thus lay down to rest with 
an increased weight of guilt ! Now justice loudly called for 
vengeance, yet mercy spared. The next morning I arose, 
as bitter as ever, against the friends of religion. 

" After breakfast, observing a collection before Professor 
S's house, I went and joined it, merely out of curiosityj 



16 MEMOIR. 

perhaps from some worse motive. Professor S. asked me 
what I thought of the late change in the institution. Here I 
felt the demon rise within me. " I would not be frightened 
bj him." I thought, and answered " that I considered It 
principally caused by sympathy." I turned away almost 
enraged ! I attended the public conference in the afternoon, 
for what reason I cannot tell ; but it pleased the Lord here 
to awaken me and open my eyes. It was suggested, that it 
could not be rationally expected, the Spirit would remain 
with us longer than it did at Yale, which was only one week. 
It was that day just a week, since the commencement of the 
revival here, and the following text rushed into my mind, 
" The harvest is past, the summer Is ended, and I am not 
saved.'' I felt as though the gates of heaven were shut 
against me. I returned home deeply concerned for my sit- 
uation. I read the sermon of President Edwards on Deut. 
32 : 35, and found my own state exactly described — that I 
was in the hands of an angry God who would take ven- 
geance. In the forenoon of the next Sabbath, Professor 
Moore* preached a sermon In which he showed the deprav- 
ity of the heart, and the impossibility of salvation by deeds 
of the law. In the afternoon, that the way, the only way of 
salvation was in Jesus Christ ; that the reason all men were 
not saved, was their unwillingness to throw themselves at 
the foot of the cross and repent of their sins and plead for 
mercy. And thought I, the only reason why I am unrec- 
onciled to God is my own unwillingness ? Yes, this proud 
heart will own no master ; it cannot. It will not submit to 
the humbling terms of the Gospel. Willingly would I cut 
off an arm, or pluck out an eye, to obtain eternal life, but to 
submit to God J to confess my dependence on him and re- 
ceive salvation as a free gift, how degrading. Thus did I 
resist, refuse and dally, till Wednesday morning, when I 

* Afterwards President Moore. 



MEMOIR. 17 

thought and felt my dependence on him, and thought I could 
rejoice in him. But I was deceived. As I was praying 
afterward, as I thought with sincerity, some one rapped at 
my door and, (must I confess it,) I blushed and felt a secret 
shame to be found in such a humbling posture. O, wretch ! 
ashamed of thy Creator ! Ashamed of him who hung on the 
cross for you " 

" Then did I feel my iniquity, my unworthiness of the 
least of God's favors ; then did I feel my desert of eternal 
punishment — eternal woe. Then I was shown that my 
whole heart was corrupt; that from this impure fountain, 
had flow jd all the streams of life, every action of course 
condemned me. Then, for the first time, I saw the necessi- 
ty of the Savior's great work of redemption, and felt that I 
must be interested personally in that, or be forever lost ; 
that I was absolutely and entirely dependent on God for 
ability to accept its terms, and yet, that my inability was 
inexcusable, as it originated or rather consisted entirely in 
the unholiness of my heart. The eternal election of saints 
appeared true, and was even a ground of comfort, for it 
seemed if God had not determined to make me a vessel of 
mercy, my wicked heart never could be renewed ; and what 
anguish ! Then was I humbled. I threw myself into the 
arms of Jesus and pled for mercy ; nor did I plead in vain. 
A beam of light darted into my mind — a world of happiness 
was in it. • I could exclaimj 

" I yield my powers to thy commaudj 
To thee I dedicate my days." 

O, may I do it. 

" On Friday, Mr. S. of B. preached from John 9 : 25. 
" Whereas I was blind, now I see " I thought I c uld in a 
measure adopt this language. Yet "I see men as trees 
walking." To-day, (the Sabbath,) I have enjoyed myself— 



18 ^ MEMOIR. 

one liour, Lord, in thy service is preferable to thousands else- 
where. How grateful ought I to be to that merciful Being 
who has brought me out of the gall of bitterness — how ought 
I to adore his goodness ! God forbid that I should return to 
my iniquities and evil ways. 

" With what new pleasure do I attend prayers in the 
Chapel. This once disagreeable task is now a pleasure. 
The morning bell, which once beat its dismal notes to call 
me to a tedious duty, now joyfully rings, Arise, arise and 
worship thy Creator." 

Here let us pause and magnify the grace of God, in view 
of this thrilling narrative. It is but seldom that we can get 
so minute an account from the pen of a distinguished schol- 
ar and preacher, of the state of his mind before he was 
awakened, of the obstinacy of his rebellious heart under 
conviction, of the all-conquering energy of God's spirit by 
which it was subdued, and of the light and joy which were 
shed abroad in it by the Holy Ghost when he had cast him- 
self upon the mercy of God through a crucified Redeemer. 
Rarely is it more strikingly manifest in the conversion of a 
sinner, that " the excellency of the power is of God," than 
it was in the subject of this Memoir. He was so far from 
expecting or desiring a revival in Dartmouth College, that 
when it came, he did not believe in its genuineness, nor in- 
deed in any special agency of the spirit at all. He thought 
it was a sort of epidemic delusion or fanaticism, "to which it 
would be unmanly to yield, and he treated it accordingly. 
He made light of it It seemed to him a fit subject of mer- 
riment and ridicule, rather than of sober inquiry and per- 
sonal concernment. And even after he was convinced that 
what he witnessed was the work of God's spirit, and was him- 
self in some measure iuipressed, his proud heart, or he " who 
rules in the hearts of the^children of disobedience," told him, 
that " it would be an everlasting disgrace, would prove him 



MEMOIR. 19 

weak and fickle minded," to yield to impressions wliich he 
had so long treated as the mere vagaries of a heated imagi- 
nation, and he determined to throw tliem all bv. Under 
this fearful resolution, he lay down that night and went to 
sleep, and no man was ever more thoroughly convinced than 
Professor Fiske, ever after was, that but for the sovereign 
mercy of God, he should have slept the sleep of eternal 
death. It was not till that voice sounded in his ears, " the 
harvest is past, the summer is ended, and I am not saved," 
that he came to himself. It was not, as he believed and 
testified, till God set his sins in order before him. and si mv- 
ed him that his state was as guilty as it was helplese ; that 
the law of God justly condemned him to everlasting punish- 
ment, that nothing but infinite grace would deliver him, and 
that so far from making himself a new creature, he was at 
last made willing in the day of God's power — It was not, 
as we have seen, till his sins were set in order before him 
in terrible array, and he utterly despaired of help from every 
other quarter, that he cast himself into the arms of the 
Savior. 

Thus was he brought most unexpectedly and cordially to 
embrace the system of doctrines contained in the Assembly's 
Catechism, which his mother taught him in his childhood ; 
and it was doubtless owing to the depth and thoroughness of 
his belief in the truth of these doctrines, that he dwelt so 
much in his preaching, especially in seasons of revival, 
upon the sovereignty of God in his electing love, the ama- 
zing stubbornness and infatuation of the sinner, the absolute 
necessity of divine power to draw him to Christ, and his ut- 
ter inexcusableness, if with the full array of gospel offers 
before him, he " beheld, and^ despised, and wondered, and 
perished." 

" No one," said young Fiske in his journal soon after liis 
conversion, " no one can read with candor the ninth Chapter 



20 MEMOIR. 

of Romans, and disbelieve in the sovereignty of God, 
which is the very thing that causes the opposition to him 
in the hearts of sinners. They are not willing that God 
should do as he pleases with those whom he has created. 

The next day's entry in his journal is in the following de- 
vout and beautiful strain. 

" This charming morning, all nature praises God. The 
lambs sport upon the green. The forests wave their yield- 
ing heads. The music of the birds floats upon the air, while 
the distant waterfall murmurs forth a prayer. And shall man 
refuse, man for whom a Savior died, who alone possesses 
reason, who alone has power to speak that praise ? Shall he 
refuse — ungrateful wretch ! Is this the return he makes 
for all the mercies of his Creator, Preserver and Benefactor ? 
Alas, it is too true. He rises in the morning and lies down 
in the evening, without once thinking of God and eternity. 
But blessed be the name of the Lord, I am brought in a meas- 
ure out of this bond of iniquity. Yet how often do I sin, in 
the low thoughts which I entertain of God's character, and the 
coldness of my heart in his worship. may this dullness 
be soon removed, and the propensities of this corrupt nature 
be soon conquered." Under date of July 7th, about six 
weeks after, I find this record. 

" I can hardly tell what are my feelings at the present 
time. I feel my unworthiness of the mercy of God and yet 
I have partaken of his mercy. Many are now offering 
themselves for admission to the church. I delay to do it, 
delay to do the will of my blessed Lord and Redeemer! 
Can his followers refuse ? No. Then I am not thy follower, 
dear Savior. O teach me my duty and give me a heart to 
do it. " This do in remembrance of me." " He that 
eateth and clrinkeththis cup unworthily is guilty of the body 
and blood of the Lord." Here a command almost induces 
me to go, but the awful consequence of eating and drinking 
unworthily deters. O may I be directed in the right way. 



MEMOIR. 21 

"July 14. Yesterday I presented myself for admis- 
sion into the cliurch in tMs place. I felt it my duty which 
could not be neglected, yet I fear I did not feel the impor- 
tance of the step I was taking. I am very unworthy, and 
may I ever have a realizing sense of it, and of my exceed- 
ing sinfulness. My examination by Prof. F., after I had 
given a brief statement of my feeling was thus. Do you 
feel less dependent on God since you obtained a hope, than 
before ? Ans. No. Do you consider your change, if you 
have met with any, as being the sovereign act of God's mer- 
cy? Ans. I do. Do you think his counsel and determi- 
nation was altered in the least from what it always had 
been. Ans. No. You think then, if you have received a 
change of heart, he had determined from all eternity that he 
would change it at the time and in the manner which he 
did ? Ans. I do. Thus was I accepted and received into 
the visible church. But I must remember this does aot 
make me a christian, O may I never be left to disgrace 
the cause of religion." 

"August 6th. This has been a very solemn day. Thirty 
three have for the first time tasted the bread and wine in 
remembrance of the body and blood of Christ. how 
sweet to meet around the table of the Lord. I can hardly 
tell how I felt. A sense of my unworthiness almost over- 
whelmed me, while I ate the bread. But when I drank, it 
seemed the blood of ablution. It seemed to wash away my 
sins, and may I not be deceived. 

" Nov. 30th. Have spent part of this morning in reading 
the law of God and calling on his name. The Savior has 
appeared infinitely lovely. I would say I hope sincerely. 

Should earth's vain pleasures all depart. 
Of this dear gift possessed, 
I'd clasp it to my joyful heart, 
And be forever blest. 

a 



22 MEMOIR. 

" Dec 3rd. Have tliis day experienced mucli of tlie good- 
ness of God. Took delight in renewing my covenant witli 
my Kedeemer in private, and felt a sweet composure at his 
table. I thought I deserved the horrors of despair, rather 
than the rich bounties of his supper. Saw my need of the 
wedding garment, and that my Lord was perfectly able and 
willing to clothe me." 

Much more to the same effect might be transferred to this 
Memoir, from the journal before me, during the first year 
of young Fiske's espousals to Christ. But while larger ex- 
tracts would exclude other important matter, greater brevity 
would, on the other hand, have preserved too imperfect a 
record of the year, upon which Prof. Fiske ever looked back 
as the most momentous period of his life. 

Though as his instructors testify, he had never been an 
idle scholar, the great religious change in his views and feel- 
ings quickened him very much in his College studies. He 
had thence forward an aim and a conscience to urge him on. 

" I v/as not now idle," he very modestly says, " though by 
no means so industrious, as perhaps I might have been. 
To speak particularly of my studies would be superfluous. 
But I must not forget my obligation to Stewart's Philoso- 
phy of the Mind. The study of this work produced a far 
more sensible, if not gi^eater development of my mental fac- 
ulties, than any other to which I attended. Perhaps, how- 
ever, the effect is not to be ascribed to this work so entirely 
as might at first be apprehended. Probably the studies 
previously pursued had contributed each its share, in pre- 
paring the mind to receive so sensible a benefit from this 
source, somewhat as the various distinct improvements in 
society prepare the way for those occasional discoveries and 
inventions, which are wholly ascribed to individuals. 

Having completed his academical course of four years, 
young Fiske took his bachelor's degree with the class of 



MEMOIR. 23 

1817, in which, he held a high rank. The following were 
some of his very appropriate reflections upon leaving Col- 
lege. 

" My connection with my Alma Mater was now dissolved. 
I felt myself cast upon the world — a rude and boisterous 
ocean. He must be destitute of sensibility, whose anxie- 
ties are not strong at such a time. Anxious, however, as I 
was, I could rejoice to commit myself to the unseen gui- 
dance of heaven. The pursuits and events of College life 
had indeed, in a great degree quenched the flame of piety. 
At best, it but feebly glimmered. Yet I cast myself upon 
the waters, hoping in God." 

From College, he went to New- Castle, Maine, where he 
had engaged to take charge of the academy for a year. 
Having completed this engagement with honor to himself 
and to the satisfaction of his employers, and being elected 
tutor of Dartmouth College in 1819, he returned, and spent 
the next two years in the class room, where he gave un- 
equivocal promise of that high distinction which he after- 
wards attained, as an accurate scholar and able instructor. 
Taking a second and affectionate leave of his Alma Mater, 
he entered the Theological Seminary at Andover, in the 
autumn of the same year, where he remained three years, 
and distinguished himself by his industry, by his success in 
the department of sacred exegesis, by his thorough- 
ness in the study of didactic theology and by his exemplary 
christian deportment It is believed that few, if any, have 
left that distinguished school of the Prophets, with better 
disciplined and better furnished minds for the work of the 
ministry, than he did. 

Having been invited to go to the south and spend the 
winter, after he left Andover, as a missionary among sea- 
men and others, not connected with any organized christian 
congregation, he received ordination as an evangelist and 



24 MEMOIR. 

sailed for Savannali, about tlie jfirst of Nov. 1823. While 
on the passage, he thus writes in his journal : 

" Our companions on the voyage are not the most pleas- 
ant. A peevish woman, two brick-layers, a Green Mountain 
bald and expelled member of College, turned sea captain, 
and professing to be a bold and rational deist. Our crew 
consists of eight, I think, besides the first and second mates, 
regular, obedient and generally not noisy. The Captain 
not sociable, but not disobliging. The first mate quite intel- 
ligent, frank, with high feelings and some noble intentions. 
I have had some conversation with our deist, who is just 
like the herd of such men, violent, irreverent towards the 
God whose existence they admit, erec?«#Zo2i5— bigotted. I 
am satisfied, that true liberality belongs only to the Chris- 
tian. It is a striking characteristic of our religion, that it 
makes the mind liberal. 

" I have occasion to be ashamed, that I have done so lit- 
tle to honor my Master on this voyage, and I pray for grace 
to act and speak through the remainder of it, with wisdom, 
humility and Christian decision. I find that in proportion as 
a clergyman respects himself and magnifies his solemn vo" 
cation, he secures respect, even among the profane and un- 
godly ; and I think he will generally secure most worldly 
men as friends and supporters, by always fully and frankly 
claiming everything, which a clergyman has a right to 
claim— 'Claiming it on the common principles of politeness 
and good breeding." 

Mr. Fiske arrived in Savannah, after a boisterous pas- 
sage of fifteen days, was kindly received, and entered im- 
mediately upon his mission. It was a new enterprise to 
him, in a new and untried field. He had many fears that 
he should not succeed to his own satisfaction, and that he 
should disappoint the reasonable expectations of the society 
that employed him. For some time he labored under such; 



MEMOIR. 25 

discouragements, that he feared he had mistaken the path 
of duty, in declining to enter fields of usefulness which open- 
ed nearer home, and going a thousand miles south to labor 
in one for which he was not fitted. When he preached, his 
audiences were very small, and he complains in his journal 
that it was impossible for him to gain their attention. This 
is not strange, when we consider, that his missionary charge 
in Savannah were seamen, Africans, patients in the hospital, 
and the poor in the lanes and outskirts of the city, most of 
whom were extremely ignorant and stupid. So far as they 
heard preaching at all, they were accustomed to a very dif- 
ferent kind of address and oratory, from what Mr. Fiske 
was master of. His voice was small and feeble, though he 
had great depth of feeling ; his gestures were few, though 
correct ; he was never highly impassioned in his delivery ; 
such was his education, and such had been his scholastic 
habits, that he had not yet learned to come down to the 
level of rude and uncultivated minds. Nobody could be 
more sensible of these disadvantages for such an agency 
than he was, and I do not think he ever could have become 
so useful a city missionary, as many others with half his 
talents and depth of piety. God raised him up and emi- 
nently qualified him for a very different sphere of labor and 
usefulness. He however persevered, was very active and 
laborious in preaching, distributing tracts, and visiting from 
house to house. His hearers at the preaching stations in- 
creased in numbers and became more and more interested 
in his discourses and other missionary services, towards the 
close of his labors ; and disparagingly as he speaks of them, 
from time to time in his journal, and in the review, we may 
form our own judgment from his last record before leaving 
the city. 

" I have preached in all, since I came out, ninety-two or 
three times, and made between three and four hundred vis- 

3* 



^b MEMOIR. 

its. The Managers voted $50 ii; addition to tlieir regular 
pay for six months." 

Before Mr. Fiske returned from Savannah, he was ap- 
pointed Professor of Mathematics and Natural Philosophy 
in Middlebury College, upon a salary of S800, and ear- 
nestly urged in letters from the President and other friends 
of the Institution, to accept the office. The letter from the 
President was received on the 9th of April, and on the 
20th he received an invitation from Concord, N. H., to 
come a,nd supply the pulpit there, through the session of the 
Legislature, which was to commence the last week in May. 
On the same day he received a letter from a member of the 
Prudential Committee of the American Board of Commis- 
sioners for Foreign Missions, inquiring whether he would 
not consent to be appointed as a missionary, either to China 
or Palestine. These applications, following each other in 
such quick succession, brought a weight of responsibility 
upon his mind, which exceedingly oppressed and perplexed 
him. How well he had studied Prov. 3:5, 6, " Trust in 
the Lord with all thine heart, and lean not to thine own un- 
derstanding- — in all thy ways acknowledge him and he shall 
direct thy paths," and how conscientious he was in deciding 
all cpiestions of duty, appears in the following extracts from 
his journal. With reference to the Professorship he says : 

" The appointment occasions me much perplexity. I am 
entirely at a loss how to decide, and I pray God, who, 
knows what is best, to guide me in the path of duty." With 
regard to the proposed Foreign Mission, he says : 

" Thus Providence is opening a new field of vast impor- 
tance before me, and the perplexities of my situation are 
greatly increased. How shall I decide ? Upon what prin- 
ciples shall I determine ? O that the love of God may be 
shed abroad in my heart, that the light of holiness may 
shine and guide me^ — that I may be led by the spirit of 
God»" 



MEMOIR. 27 

In this state of mind, Mr. Fiske did not feel prepared to 
give a deffinitive answer to either of these applications. He 
Tvanted more time for prayer, reflection and inquiry. As 
soon after his return to the North, as he could make up his 
mind, he makes the following entry in his journal. 

*' I yesterday wrote to Dr. TV., declining to enter upon 
the work proposed by the Prudential Committee. Perhaps 
I have not duly weighed the subject ; but I seem to myself 
so wholly unsuited to the duties of a Foreign Missionary, 
that the incapacity is a proof of its not being my duty. My 
friends would not oppose^ although they would earnestly de- 
sire it might not happen. I have never directed my studies 
at all, in reference to such a station, and my physical con- 
stitution appears to me a great obstacle. 

" Yesterday, wrote also, to Dr. B. a final answer to the 
application from Middlebury College. I was willing to look 
at the thing in the most favorable light, but I seriously 
doubted the propriety of turning from the ministry, now ac- 
tually commenced, for a place so dissimilar in its pursuits, 
for which I must spend almost another year in preparation, 
and this fully decided the question. I seriously regret that I 
delayed the answer so long ; but it was simply because I 
was in doubt, as to the path of duty. I hope they may find 
a man better suited to their wants, and I doubt not they 
will." 

Soon after his return from Savannah, Mr. Fiske preach- 
ed two or three sabbaths in Concord, N. H., under a re- 
newal of the invitation which he had received before he 
closed his engagement at the South. A few days after 
leaving Concord, on a visit to his friends, he was cordially 
invited to return and preach as a candidate for settlement 
in the new Congregational society, which had just been 
formed ; and in the summer of 1824: he was elected Pro- 
fessor of Languages and Rhetoric in the Amherst Collegi- 



28 MEMOIR 

ate Institution, which was then petitioning for a College 
Charter and obtained it from the Greneral Court, the next 
year. With these two new fields of labor opening before 
him, Mr. Fiske writes in his journal, Sept. 1, 1824 : 

" I feel again in perplexit}^, as to my duty. The state of 
things in Concord is critical ; but it is impossible for me to 
tell, whether my going there will make it less so. I am 
satisfied there is a great object in Amherst, which is worthy 
of sacrifices, if I can fill the place. 

"Sept. 14. I am not yet fully decided; and if my pre- 
sent state of mind, inclining me to accept the Professorship, 
be not agreeable to the will of God, may he order circum- 
stances so as to teach me." 

Again, on the 26th, he writes : " Returned to Amherst 
last evening, having concluded to accept the place to which 
I have been invited ; accepting, however, only the profes- 
sorship of Languages, as, besides my utter dislike of the du- 
ties of instruction in Rhetoric, it would be absolutely impos- 
sible for any man to fill both departments. I have consent- 
ed to come here, after many struggles and doubts. I know 
not that I have decided rightly ; but I pray God to grant 
his presence, blessing and assistance, teaching me my error, 
if I have erred, and giving me contrition and humility, and 
still employing me as an instrument of Iws glory. 

" Several motives have conspired in forming my decision. 
With regard to Concord, I have serious doubts, whether I 
could properly fill that place. I fear that regular preaching 
would prove too rapid a waste of my bodily health, my 
voice being very feeble. A great and good object, I think, 
is presented in the Institution here, and a feasible one, and 
therefore one w^hich justifies some sacrifices. Friends in 
whom I confide, think I can be more useful in a department 
like this, than in the pastoral relation. I can make the ex- 
periment, without any delay of preparation, and shall not 



MEMOIR. 29 

be bound to continue in the business, if it does not furnish a 
field of usefuhiess. 

" I wish to enter upon my duty with a deep impression of 
the responsibleness of my station. If I remain, the minds 
and hearts of many youth are to be influenced through life 
and through eternity, by my instructions, remarks, conduct, 
prayers and studies. Every thing, indeed, which I do, is to 
to bear in some way or other, and with greater or less 
weight, on their intellectual and moral character ; — on their 
usefulness and their happiness. The Lord guide me, and 
fill my heart with the love of Christ and the love of souls. 

" Jun. 4th, 1825. The first term of my labors in the 
College is completed. The duties have been quite labori- 
ous, and I have performed them but feebly and indifferent- 
ly. My only support is the hope of being, at some time, if 
God shall spare my life and health, better qualified to dis- 
charge them. 1 think my situation one of much usefulness, 
if I can meet its demands. But I wish to be more deeply 
and constantly impressed with the truth, that my best aid, is 
an ardent desire to honor God, and an honest devotedness 
to his service — these being always the fruit of his own 
Spirit, and always securing his presence and blessing," 

The following are some of Professor Fiske's reflections, 
as recorded in his journal, April 17th: "While I continu- 
ed at Andover, I enjoyed advantages which could not fail 
of producing some beneficial effect on my intellectual char- 
acter. But I am sensible now, of one grand defect in my 
mode of study — that 1 attempted too much variety, and 
did not pursue any one thing, with suflicient intenseness and 
labor. Some of my studies tended to fit me for such a 
station as I now occupy, although not pursued with any 
such reference. The pursuits and circumstances of the half 
year spent in Savannah had, I trust, a salutary influence on 
my habits of thinking, and my skill in communicating my 



30 MEMOIR- 

ideas. I hope I have gained something during the time I 
have been in this place ; but in view of my intellectual 
character and attainments, I have the greatest occasion to 
blush at my unfitness for my situation, and to blush for my 
lost opportunities. May that Being, "whose inspiration 
hath given me understanding," strengthen an enlarge my 
powers, and enable me to make useful attainments and em- 
ploy them to his honor," 

With what ability, skill and success Professor Fiske dis- 
charged the duties of his office, for more than twenty 
years, we shall have occasion to inquire in its proper 
place. 

Early in November 1828, he was united in marriage 
with Miss Deborah W. Vinal, only daughter of Mr. 
David Vinal of Boston ; and possessing, as she did, a rare 
combination of those intellectual and moral qualities, which 
most adorn the female character, he found " her price 
to be far above rubies." "The heart of her husband safe- 
ly trusted in her." Though of a feeble frame and needing, 
as she always received, his tenderest assiduities, she " did 
him good and not evil all the days of her life." Beyond 
her own hopes, and the expectation of her friends, God 
spared her to her family, till the winter of 1844. She left 
two daughters, who still survive, having lost two sons in 
their infancy. 

How Professor Fiske felt and behaved, under afflictions 
I find an affecting example, in the entry upon his journal 
soon after the death of one of his children, and as he was 
anxiously watching the early developments of the disease 
which but too sursly foreboded a still sorer bereavement. 

" Let me put down some of the dealings of God with me 
and my family, that if I live, I may hereafter refresh my 
treacherous memory, God has lately appointed to me one 
almost continued series of tria,ls ; especially repeated alarm- 



MEMOIR. 31 

ing sickness in the persons of my dear wife and cliildren, 
with distressing embarrassment as to help, to perform 
nursing and family labor. And now, last of all, he hath 
smitten the loveliest flower of our little garden. Our idol- 
ized son, Humphrey Washburn, we followed to the narrow 
house, having lived not quite a year. Three weeks to-day, 
I held him in apparent health, and in blooming loveliness 
and promise in my arms, in the sanctuary, while our Pastor 
called over him the name of the Father, the Son and the 
Holy Ghost. From that very day, as if to show us more 
fully the dealing of God in the matter, he began to decline. 
"\Yhooping cough and a disease in the bowels terminated his 
life, after many days and nights of extreme suiFering. Fa- 
ther, how mysterious thy ways ! O let my heart bow in 
humble, thankful adoration of thy goodness, all along mani- 
fested. Yet how dark a moment was it, when in the last 
agonies of little H., I was obliged to give his wasted frame 
to the hands of strangers, in order to take into my arms my 
other child, suddenly smitten of a fever, as if God would 
take both at once. most Holy and Righteous God, spare, 
spare, if it can consist with our well being and thy glory. 
" jSTevertheless, not our will but thine be done," now and 
ever, amen. 

" I have melancholy apprehensions respecting my dear 
wife, fearing much, that in the extremely weak and exhaust- 
ed state in which her affliction has come upon her, with 
whooping cough and a new cold, her tendency to consump- 
tion will be revived and fatally fixed. But most merciful 
God, spare this cup, if it can please thee, and thou canst 
otherwise secure her and my best good and thy glory.. At 
such a moment of apprehension, how does the value of the 
blessing reveal itself to the mind ! How insensible have I 
been, of the nearness and dearness of this treasure. O 
Lord, rebuke the disease, and help us all to live hereafter 



82 • MEMOIR. 

in more grateful acknowledgment of thy mercies, and more 
full of devotion to tliy service. 

The following affectionate testimonial of Professor Fiske, 
to the character and faithfulness of his mother, will be in- 
teresting to other christian parents. 

"In the fall of 1834, my dear Mother died at Weston, 
and I was permitted, in Providence, to attend her funeral. 
I humbly trust, she found acceptance with God, and am 
sure that I am under unspeakable obligations to her and to 
God, for the faithful religious instruction which she gave me 
while young, and for her humble deportment, which was so 
bright an example of piety. She made it a point of con- 
science, to require of me and my younger sister, a familiar 
acquaintance with the Assembly's Catechism, the whole of 
which we recited every sabbath." 

In the fall of 1834, Professor Fiske commenced his trans-^ 
lation from the German, of Eschenburgh's Manual of Clas- 
sical Literature, and the first edition was completed in April, 
1836. It was received with unexpected favor, and a second 
edition, which he carefully revised, was soon called for. A 
third followed, and the demand still increasing, the pub- 
lishers determined to stereotype the work for a fourth edi- 
tion, which being still more carefully revised and considera- 
bly enlarged by Professor Fiske, they brought out in 1843. 
His reflections, when he had completed this last and most 
laborious revision, so finely illustrate his character as a 
christian scholar, that they ought to find a place in this con^ 
nection. 

*'Itook leave of it with great satisfaction, feeling that I 
was now liberated from toil in connection with it. And 
here I desire to express my gratitude to God, for his kind 
Providence, in preserving my life, and enabling me to get 
the work into a shape more satisfactory, than it before had. 
I pray him to forgive every sinful thought and feeling, he 



MEMOIR. 33 

has seen in me, in connection with the book, as well as my 
other numerous offences. I thank him for often disposing 
me to seek his blessing, during my labors upon it, and I 
humbly implore his future blessing upon it, that it may be 
made an instrument and help, in promoting useful knowl- 
edge, and that it may never, in a single instance, be the oc- 
casion of error or sin, to one of my fellow creatures." 

The next year, "the thing," which Professor Fiske had 
so long and so " greatly feared, came upon him." The in- 
sidious disease, which had for years been threatening the life 
of his inestimable wife, triumphed, and she died in peace, on 
the 21st of Feb. 1844. His heart, as well as his house, 
was now desolate- His own health had suffered much, from 
anxiety and watching, during her protracted sickness, and 
it was evident to his friends, that his lungs perilously sym- 
pathised with the disease that was wasting her vitals. 
These pulmonary symptoms, though mitigated at short in- 
tervals, never ceased to threaten his life. His family was 
soon broken up ; but he himself remained alone for months 
in his house, by night, as well as by day, reminded every 
hour, and by every thing around him, of the irreparable loss 
which he and his children had sustained. This was regard- 
ed by all his friends as a dangerous seclusion, especially in 
his feeble state of health ; and they used what persuasions 
they could to draw him from it. He there fed sweetly and 
mournfully upon his griefs, without being at all aware of the 
danger ; and we shall never cease to lament, that he could 
not be induced to deny himself the morbid pleasure, which 
clinging to the enchanted spot afforded him. ' "What he 
most needed, was the society of cheerful christian friends ; 
not to make him forget his irreparable loss, but to keep his 
mind in a healthy tone to bear it. How important it was 
in his precarious state of health,- that his thoughts should be 
diverted from the all absorbing associations of his desolate 



S4 MEMOIR. 

home, appears from frequent entries in his journal, though 
he could not at the time be convinced of it himself. On 
one occasion, after a few weeks absence, he thus gi%^es 
vent to his feelings. 

^' The vacation has rapidlj gone, and I am again in my 
lonely study in this house, from which God in his righteous 
Providence has scattered my family. Here are the rooms 
and the articles which perpetually remind me of my depart- 
ed companion, and all my grief has been renewed since my 
return." 

'Not long after, by the advice of his friends. Professor 
Fiske received a respectable family into his house, which 
manifestly contributed to the improvement of his health and 
spirits. How tenderly attached he was to his own family, 
and what were " the thoughts of his heart," under the stroke 
which laid his wife in the grave, and removed his children 
from their loved home, may be gathered from the following 
touching entries in his journal. 

" Sept. 7tli, 1845. I have just returned from a pleasant 
visit to my children and friends. I have many reasons of 
gratitude to my Heavenly Father, among which is not the 
least, his kind Providential ordering of the circumstances of 
my beloved children. May I never foi-gethis goodness, nor 
the kind and affectionate sympathy of the friends of my 
dear wife. 

" How lonely did I feel, in reaching my own house here 
yesterday, after leaving those friends and my father's resi- 
dence. O how much did my heart run after the past, with 
desires to hear the voices of the children, and to see the 
welcome smile of my departed companion. I could not but 
wish for the moment, that the wheels of timxc might roll 
backward, or that I could recall the angel from her heav- 
enly engagements. But such a wish, it would be as cruel, 
as impious to foster. — No, my beloved bosom friend, I do 



MEMOIR. 35 

not wish you to encounter again, even for an hour, the trials 
of your mortal lot. Sing and adore your Savior, as yoa be- 
hold his beauty and glory and dwell with him where Jie is, 
and where you are like him. And may your poor, sin- 
ful, lonely husband, and dear daughters, be kept by infinite 
grace, and prepared to meet you and join you in the blissful 
employment." 

The next entry in his journal, dated Sept. 27, 1846, gives 
a rapid sketch of the precarious and vacilating state of his 
health, during the preceding twelve months, and of the con- 
siderations, which, reluctant as he was to relinquish his pro- 
fessory labors in the then state of the College, ripened, at 
last, into a full conviction, that it was his duty to seek resto- 
ration, if it might be the will of G-od, in a foreign voyage. 
I give the substance of the entry, mainly in his own words. 

" Through the closing months of the last year, my health 
seemed to be constantly improving ; and in January, I 
thought the disease of my throat quite removed. But in Feb- 
ruary, I experienced a very sudden and acute attack of bron- 
chitis, which greatly prostrated me, and from that time to the 
present, I have been gradually losing strength and flesh, 
and symptoms of bronchial consumption have begun distinct- 
ly to appear. 

" At the close of the spring term, God was pleased, in his 
sovereign and infinite mercy, to pour out his spirit on the 
College, and a number of the students were, it is hoped, con- 
verted to Christ. I was not able to engage in the work, or 
do much for Christ ; yet if I had possessed the right spirit, 
should not I have done a great deal more ? Unless greatly 
deceived, I did rejoice in my heart, to see how God employ- 
ed and blessed the active exertions of my colleagues ; and I 
feel something like true humility and submission to God, in 
being set aside from these blessed engagements." 

In compliance with the strong solicitations of his friends. 



36 MEMOIR. 

Prof. Fiske, about mid-summer, consulted a physician in 
whose skill they had great confidence, who pronouced the 
case one, requiring immediate attention — " a strong tenden- 
cy to tubercular deposit and ulceration." He recommend- 
ed a release from all college labors and a voyage. Though 
this advice commended itself to Professor Fiske's judge- 
ment, " he feared, that in the critical state of the college, a 
sudden announcement of his case, and the necessity of his be- 
ing absent, would operate unfavorably to the interests of the 
Institution ; and on this account, felt it his duty to remain, 
with the hope of being able to carry on his department, 
through the first term, at least." 

'' But the very first week of labor demonstrated the ne- 
cessity of immediate suspension. I yesterday (Sept. 26,) 
held my last exercise with my class. I have a strong im- 
pression, that it is the last exercise that I shall ever hold in 
this college." Alas, for the fulfillment of this sad premoni- 
tion ! 

" It is a solemn moment with me. Twenty-two years 
have elapsed, since I entered upon the duties of a professor 
in this College, — twenty-two classes of young men have, 
during this time, been more or less under my instruction, in- 
cluding over 700, that have been actually graduated here, 
besides a large number that were here only a part of the 
course. O what a fearful resjDonsibility have I been living 
under ! How little have I realized it. Most gracious Re- 
deemer, may thy atoning blood be applied, and all my sins 
of omission and commission, in relation to these numerous 
pupils, be pardoned. 

"It is a time of deep anxiety as to the future. What 
means shall I take ? My friends urge removal to a warmer 
climate for the Avinter. This may escape the immediate 
danger of sudden efforts from cold, but will produce no ini- 



MEMOIR. 37 

portant change in tendencies. May God guide me and pre- 
pare me for his holy will, whatever it may be.'' 

Physicians advised to a foreign voyage, rather than 
going for a few months to the West Indies, or Florida, 
as had been thought of; and "after considerable hesitation 
and vacillation, and much prayer, for the direction of heav- 
en," Professor Fiske decided to secure the opportunity of 
the return of the Rev. Eli Smith to his missionary station 
at Beiroot, and embark with him for the Mediterranean, in 
the ship which was to convey him thither. 

They sailed from New York, on the 5th of November, 1846. 
Larger extracts from his journal, while on the voyage, than 
I can find room for, would, I am sure, be interesting, not on- 
ly to his friends, but to the general reader. After descri- 
bing the parting scene upon the deck, when those who had 
accompanied their friends down to the Hook, were leaving 
the ship to return to the city, he thus gives vent to his feel- 
ings. 

" If any one noticed me, I might probably have seemed 
to them a mere spectator of what was passing ; but I too 
was heaving with emotion. My dear children, my only sis- 
ter, my brother and his afflicted family, my venerable fa- 
ther, at the age of 85, tottering by the grave, my friends 
and fellow laborers at Amherst, the image of my departed 
wife, all rushed to view. * * * I seemed to my- 
self to be left alone in the world ; but it was but a moment. 
The tear of loneliness, ere it fell, was changed into the tear 
of gratitude, that my dear wife had safely passed all the 
dangers of life's voyage ; that a kind Providence had secu- 
red such homes for my children in my expected absence, and 
that I was going out with such approbation of my course, as 
my Christian acquaintance had given. 

"Nov. 11. Have not yet seen the sun, since the day of 

coming on board the ship. The iQost troublesome and of- 

4* 



38 ^ MEMOIR. 

fensive thing to me, is tlie effluvia of tlie tobacco, "wliieli 
many of the passengers are continually smoking. 

" Nov. 14. The sun appeared a little while, and we all 
enjoyed a short season on deck, during which we had a visit 
from a company of whales. But the clouds and mists soon 
came, with the wind from the north-east, dead against us. It 
soon blew a gale, which has proved long and severe. At 
night, the vessel was hove to, and thus we have continued 
all the while till this morning ; three nights and two days, 
during which, nor sun, nor moon, nor star has cheered us. 
* * * Never again may I encounter a north-east 
gale in the gulf stream. I cannot describe it. It was a 
dark scene by day, and fearfully dark by night. The scene 
on deck was awfully sublime. The sea, lashed with a v»^ild 
fury by the wind, drove through the rigging, with an angry 
and fitful howl, as if the fierce god of storms was rushing 
along, with a troop of invisible spirits. Wave after wave, 
of towering height, came down upon our larboard, each of 
which, I thoughtj^must bury us in the waters. But with ad- 
mirable ease and dignity, our ship rose on her keel, as the 
waves approached, and let them pass under to the opposite 
side, where rushing up many feet above the bulwarks, and 
lying for a moment along side, as her bows went pitching 
down into the black gulf below, they broke harmless, and 
fell among the mighty mass of waters astern. Yet in the 
moment of breaking, they flung madly up to their summits 
a quivering white foam, with a ghostly roar, like the grim 
growl of a ^iant demon, and gave a lashing blow at the side 
of the ship, which made every plank and timber tremble. 
Sometimes they broke more quietly away, showing above 
their black form a crown of richest blue, or blueish green, 
covered with a crest of purest white. * * * Until 
the 19th, the sun scarcely made his appearance, except on 
the afternoon of Tuesday ,*vhen he shone with a full splen- 



MEMOIR. 39 

dor ; and the phases exhibited at his sitting were, to my eye, 
very singular. As he drew near the water, there was an 
apparent flattening of his under surface, as if he shrunk 
back from the element antagonistic to fire, or was unwilling 
to go down to the underworld. Almost immediately, how- 
ever, the very opposite appearance was assumed. A small 
arc, on the lower side, seemed to descend and kiss the wave, 
while the body of the luminary was enlarged, and the whole 
figure was like that of an inflated balloon, just starting from 
the bosom of the deep, and at the same time hanging in the 
bkies. After poising thus for a moment, the ordinary ap- 
pearance of a setting sun was renewed and continued, until 
about half the disc became invisible, when suddenly the up- 
per half, seemed to lie directly on the surface of the water^ 
like a broad circular plate of gold. 

"Nov. 19. The sea was comparatively smooth and the 
vessel hung lazily on the waves. In the evening, a breeze 
came in from the southeast, and after breakfast yesterday 
morning, I took my seat on deck, and greatly enjoyed the 
sailing, several hours. The wind was balmy and soothing ; 
and I soon forgot that I had any such organs as lungs, or 
any such work as breathing to do. The sun was giving out 
his mildest beams ; the ship moved easily and proudly, 
through the gently swelling waves, while around me was 
spread out a scene of novel beauty, on the surface of the vast 
sea. As I looked toward the sun, the waters under him 
appeared like molten brass, shining and rolling in an im- 
mense lake. Everywhere else, the sea was a rich dark 
green — waves gently rising, and throwing white crests on 
their summits, in ten thousand changing forms. In the 
quarter directly opposite to the sun, the scene was almost 
enchanting ; the foam was tossed up on the green waves, in 
wTeaths of purest white, brilliant and glittering, like the dew- 
drops ; leaping and dancing with indescribable grace, as if 



40 MEMOIR. 

the ver;^ soul of the ocean were breaking out of its liquid 
body, in the ecstacy of its joy, to laugh outright in the face 
of the sun. I no longer wondered, that the Greeks imagin- 
ed the goddess of beauty and pleasure to be begotten of the 
sea-foam. Repeatedly, I seemed almost to see her, rising 
upon a distant wave, and standing in her scollop, wringing 
out her silver tresses, and half revealing her charms to the 
lofty Phoebus ; but in a moment, she sank out of sight, dis- 
solving in the very instant of birth, into the elements that 
gave her being. That, thought 1, is the meaning and moral 
of the elegant fiction ; — always it is so with beauty and 
pleasure. Beauty fades, even before her full bloom, and 
pleasure is gone before it is realized as such ; — both per- 
ishing in the moment of birth, yet both perpetually repro- 
duced, in the great ocean of human existence. 

" While I sat enjoying this scene, the wind increased, the 
sun hid himself behind the thickening clouds, the ocean be- 
came dark, and began to swell and give out sullen murmur- 
in gs, as the gale came sweeping on. But still, far off in the 
horizon, I saw the white spray continuing its joyous dance, 
leaping upward as it were into the sky, untarnished with a 
single cloud. So it ever is, said I to myself, as I went 
down into the cabin, thoughtful, but not sad ; so it is with 
liope, especially that good hope of the Christian, ever buoy- 
ant, not dissipated on the approach of adversity ; cheerful 
and joyous, even in the storm, and ever looking up into a 
world of unchanging purity and peace." 

How graphic and beautiful the picture ; how pure and 
elevated the moral ! 

"Nov. 22. Sabbath. How should I love, to-day, to en- 
joy the worship of God's house. Yet, can I not praise thee, 
O Lord, as I ride upon the bosom of the sea ? It is thy 
power that has spread out these waters, and thou boldest 
them in the hollow of thy hand. Thou gayest unto the 



MEMOIR. 41 

heaving billows, thus far shall ye go, but no farther. Not a 
solitary vessel, or single mariner can they engulph without 
thy bidding, and at thy pleasure must they ever roll, to car- 
ry both friend and foe, wherever thou mayest appoint. 
How safely do thy saints travel through the trackless ex- 
panse. They go and come, and fear no harm. Help me to 
know thee in heart and life, amid my experiences upon the 
deep. Condescend to teach me, here, new lessons on thy 
wisdom and power and Providence. Let me gather food 
to nourish a wholesome piety. O may my heart be enlarged 
in love and holy affections, to some correspondence with the 
fulness, and freeness, and life, and ceaseless activity of the 
fathomless deep, on which I am roaming. And wilt thou 
carry me safely and quickly on this voyage, and smile upon 
it as a means of bodily and mental renovation. Direct all 
my steps in this absence from home, and friends, and native 
land. Let the .moral improvement, the sanctification by 
grace of my soul, ever be my supreme desire, so that wher- 
ever I go, and whatever I do, I may be only growing into 
greater likeness to my blessed Kedeemer, and into greater 
fitness for his service, both on earth and in heaven. 

"Dec. 5. As I was dressing this morning, Mr. S. rap- 
ped at my door and exclaimed, " Land is in sight." Co- 
lumbus, I believe, could not have been more glad, when the 
cry of land first greeted his ears, than I was at this news. 
* * * By the time I was dressed, most of the pas- 
sengers were on deck, stretching over the weather bulwarks, 
and straining their eye-balls — and some of them declared, 
they could see the Cape, (St. Vincent.) My glasses were 
on, and the Captain particularly pointed away to the spot — 
*' the blue belt there. Don't you see it ?" I could only say 
in truth, " I think I see where you mean" — for as to " the 
blue belt there," it was to my eye, nothing more nor less, 
than the same old sky and water, 1 had seen for a month. 



42 MEMOIR. 

On the next day, tliey entered the straits of Gibraltar, 
and Professor Fiske gives a vivid description of the scene- 
ry as it opened to his view, in the early gray of the morn- 
ing, and became every moment more beautiful and magnifi- 
cent, till " the sun rose in unclouded splendor ;" but I have 
not room for the extract. 

" Dec 7. About 8 o'clock, the vessel was anchored in the 
Bay, and the health officer was soon along side. The Cap- 
tain was required to muster both crew and passengers, to be 
counted, to ascertain whether the number corresponded to 
the specification in the ship's papers. The rest of the passen- 
gers had taken breakfast and dressed themselves for going 
ashore ; but I had remained so long on deck, viewing the 
novel landscapes, that I was only half shaved, and in my 
shirt sleeves, when the summons came, '' All the passen- 
gers will come on deck to be counted " There was no es- 
cape. I had scarce time to wipe off the lather from my 
right cheek, and ~ snatching my cop and morning gown 
which showed to her British Majesty's officer my phi% al- 
though bearing the Janus-like look of a Charlestown con- 
vict, I counted 07ie." 

Though Professor Fiske stopped but two or three days 
at Gibraltar, he remained long enough to see every thing 
that is most interesting in and around that world-renowned 
fortress, and would, I have no doubt, have wrought the 
notes and sketches which he hastily took down, into a glow- 
ing chapter of his foreign tour, had he lived to return. The 
next port at which he touched was Malta, Dec. 16, and his 
journal abundantly proves, how wide awake he was to every 
object which came within the range of his vision, from the 
moment he left Gibraltar. He saw every thing that could 
be seen from the deck of the schooner, on both sides of the 
Mediterranean, and the islands which fioatj as it were, up- 



MEMOIR. 43 

on lier bosom. I have room for but one short extract 
from his journal. 

"The third and last view I took of Aloiers was with the 

O 

telescope, and it was certainly a splendid sight. The green 
sea between us and the land, the white triangle of houses 
surrounded by a wall on the slope of the hill, the dark 
green of the surrounding fields, the French fortress on the 
highest eminence, the sky beyond, of beautiful yellow light, 
adorned with the gorgeous drapery of gold and orange col- 
ored clouds toward the right ; on the left, the far stretching 
Atlas in the distance, the summits of snow glittering in the 
sun. It was a scene of rich beauty, awakening emotions 
wholly at variance with all my previous associations with a 
city, known as the capital of a semi-barbarous nation.. Just 
as we were losing sight of Algiers, we had a very striking 
view of the loftiest summit of Mount Atlas, iiine or ten 
thousand feet in height. It was my last look on the giant, 
whose heaven-bearing shoulders had been in sight nearly 
the whole day." 

The six days vrhich Professor Fiske stopped at Malta, 
from the 16th to the 22d of December, were most delight- 
fully improved in visiting and examining the fortifications, 
churches, palaces and other objects, most interesting to trav- 
elers on that island, so renowned in the history of the mid- 
dle ages. His notes and sketches, taken down on the spot, 
fill twelve or fifteen closely written pages of the journal. 
But the steamer is leaving for more thrilling seas and shores, 
and we must hasten on. 

Those who knew Professor Fiske, and heard his admira- 
ble lectures from the Greek Chair in Amherst College, will 
not wonder, that his near approach to the classic lands, of 
which he had read and dreamed so much, kindled up an en- 
thusiasm in his bosom, which made him forget all his bodily 
infirmities, and excited his faculties to the highest tension. 



44 MEMOIR. 

O, liow much did lie enjoy, in sailing among the ^gean and 
Adriatic Isles, and in anticipation of landing upon the 
shores of Greece. But let hiria speak for himself. 

" As we crossed the Sinus Laconicus, and looked up 
Lacedemon's "hollow vale," we had a most splendid view, 
indescribably so, of Mount Taygetus to the left of Sparta; I 
took two sketches — the sun shining on them in full splendor ; 
and as one summit rose above the other, like a pillar of 
glory, even above the clouds, and the scene changed nearly 
every moment, it seemed as if the sun and the sky, the 
clouds and the everlasting hills were striving together, to 
form a living monument before us, to speak of Sparta and 
her heroes — her kings — her matrons — her Leonidas and his 
companions — of Thermopylae and Leuctra.'' 

After noticing other interesting objects, as the steamer in 
its rapid progress brought them successively to view. Pro- 
fessor Fiske brings us as it were into a delightful sympathy 
with his own enthusiasm, in the following animated and 
amusing effusion. 

" I retired to my birth , and being weary, soon fell asleep ; 
and however busy consciousness might have been, thought 
little that was remembered, till I heard the cable running 
over the bows, and in a moment the hiss of the steam, as it 
was let off. This told me, that we were at anchor in the 
harbor of the Peireeus — the real old PeirEeus ! It seemed a 
dream— impossible ! I — the feeble, withered, dispirited 
dyspeptic — I only six weeks ago creeping up that " ugly 
hill," more dead than alive, treading as wearily and wofully 
as a jaded horse in the everlasting tread-wheely now more 
than four thousand miles away from the " cider mill," and 
in the Peireeus — close by the Salamis — just within the 
long walls — near the city of Minerva — close by that glori- 
ous citadel, the Acropolis, with its almost eternal temples — 
the Parthenon — the Pnyx— the Bema of Demosthenes — 



MEMOIR. 45 

Mars Hill — the prison of Socrates — the Academy — the 
city of Miltiades and Themistocles and Cimon — the spot 
where Paul, the Apostle, preached Christ and the resurrec- 
tion, to Platoaists and Aristotelians and Stoics and Epicu- 
reans. — It must be a dream — all a dream. No — it is a re- 
ality, a veritable reality. I had crossed the Atlantic — that 
awful sea-sickness was no dream, and I had stood on the 
rock of Gibraltar, and explored its excavated galleries and 
halls — I had looked upon the palaces and castles of the fa- 
mous Knights of Malta, and thrust my hand into the old 
rope-bound cannon, brought from Rhodes, and just before 
going to bed, had been gazing upon the crests and moun- 
tains of the Peloponnesus. No — it was no dream. 

" Up I sprang. None else in the whole cabin was astir ; 
but a feeble light, from a lamp almost expiring, enabled me 
to dress- I hurried on deck to see and admire — dashed by 
the sailors, who, stupid fellows, I thought were indulging in 
no ecstacies, but lazily lifting boxes and barrels out through 
the hatches. By the help of their light, 1 got on the poop, 
to have a full view, before I discovered that a haze was 
hanging all around the horizon, and that it was still quite 
dark, although over head the stars shone brightly, and I rec- 
ognized the Great Bear nearly in the Zenith. But what 
were my feelings, when looking round, I could see nothing 
but the two lights of the harbor, that seemed no more won- 
derful than just such things on Cape Cod ; and a few other 
lights here and there, on some vessels lying near our steam- 
er. All around, as I strained my eyes to catch some of the 
glories which my long buried classical associations, now ri- 
sing in huddled confusion, led me to contemplate, was noth- 
ing but a mass of darkness and haze, until at last, I caught 
a glimpse of something on my right. It was evidently a 
hill, quite near. "What was that structure upon its summit ? 
Why it was — yes it was actually a modern wind-mill! 

5 



46 MEMOIR. 

" Bj this time my entliusiasm was somewliat clamped, and 
the bell of the man at the wheel informed me, that it was 
only 4 1-2 o'clock. I descended to my berth, in quite a com- 
mon sense feeling, thinking that the sailors were wiser than 
the Professor ; and gathering my cloak about me, took a 
very comfortable nap, from which I did not wake, till sun- 
rise ; and then I saw, that the vessel was in a very fine har- 
bor, almost completely land-locked — that we were not far 
from Salamis, and in full view of the hill, on which Xerxes 
sat upon his throne, and saw the ruin of his fleet — the sun 
rising brightly over the top of Hymettus and light clouds 
hanging upon the more distant summits of Pentelicus. Be- 
tween these mountains, Anchesmus lifted its conical form, 
indicating the position of Athens, which was wholly hidden 
from sight, at a distance of about five miles. 

"We were very desirous of visiting Athens. It was now 
seven o'clock, and our Captain said, the steamer would sail 
at ten. We pushed ashore, and hastened to the residence 
of Rev. Mr. Buel, Baptist missionary at Peiraeus, where 
we were cordially received. Mr. Buel thought we could 
ride to Athens in about forty minutes, which would give us 
a few minutes to find Dr. King, and see the Acropolis. 
Upon this, Mr. Smith resolved to go ; and at a quarter past 
eight, we were in a carriage, to ride five miles, see Athens 
and get back by ten. We hurried on the great and now ex- 
cellent McAdamized road, along the plain of Attica, passing 
rapidly by olive groves and vineyards. We noticed flocks 
of sheep and a man plowing with a yoke of oxen — a long 
straight bar for a yoke — a thong instead of a chain to draw 
the plough, and the plough of the ancient form, scarcely 
turning the ground up, more than to use a pick axe, or crow- 
bar. As you approach Athens, the first thing that strikes 
you is the Acropolis, with its ruins bursting upon you all at 
once, and the impression is one of the deepest character — 



MEMOIR. 47 

of mingled admiration and awe — an emotion of complex and 
high sublimity, which only grows stronger as yoo approach, 
and the stupendous ruins becom.e more distinct. While 
you are gazing, rapt in incommunicable meditations, anoth- 
er object catches your eye. It is evidently the roof of an 
ancient edifice, and in a moment, the Temple of Theseus is 
in full view, below the Acropolis. Your whole soul is en- 
chained — -there is no describing your feelings. Here in or- 
der to make the most of our few moments, Mr. Smith left 
us to find Dr. King, and meet us at the Temple of Theseus. 
The road leads to the right of Mars Hill, right by and over 
the old Agora, (market place), now covei-ed deep with rub- 
bish. Around it to the left, is the Pnyx and the Bema, 
where Demosthenes uttered his terrible Philippics. You 
pass on by the prison of Socrates, then to the right of the 
Acropolis, winding around again to the left, to the city, by 
the temple of Jupiter Olympus, Here we left the carriage, 
nearly in front of the entrance of the prisons, and hurried 
up the Acropolis, over a long slope covered with a mS,ss of 
rubbish, having in view a huge tower constructed in the 
Middle Ages, sadly out of place amid the splendid works of 
Grecian art — right by the side of the beautiful little temple 
of Victory. We were soon beyond this and passed through 
the gigantic Propylea, and stood in front of the Parthenon 
in ruins, yet still of indescribable beauty and majesty. We 
passed around the Parthenon, looked down upon the ruins 
of the temple of Jupiter Olympus, then turned towards the 
city, and came to the ruins of Erectheum and the temple of 
Minerva Pelias, Passing this, and the wall here construct- 
ed upon the edge of the hight, we looked down the dizzy 
precipice upon the modern city, which lies in full view, as 
on a map — Mt. Hymettus rising with its lofty peak on the 
right, and Pentelicus beyond it. From this point, the new 
palace of Otho^ in bright white marble, is the most conspic- 



48 MEMOIR. 

uous object, and the University of Athens next. The Tow- 
er of the "Winds was almost directly under ns ; but after 
all, the eye came back to that glorious temple of Theseus, 
and rested there, unwilling to turn from the spot. 

" I was just turning myself from it to look on more distant 
points, when our watches told us that our time was already 
more than expired, and we were obliged to return to the car- 
riage in the utmost haste. * =* * * Feeling that I could 
not leave Athens, until I had stood on Mars Hill, I ran— 
(you would have laughed outright to see me), over the steps 
cut in the solid rock, smooth as glass and almost as slippery, 
by the tread of generations, and rushed up at the hazard 
of my neck, and stood, with such feelings as I never had 
before, and never can have again, on the very spot, as I have 
no doubt, where that great Apostle, more eloquent than De- 
mosthenes himself, stood in the presence of the Epicureans 
and Stoics and other philosophers of Greece, before the 
awful Areopagites, and directly in view of all the splendid 
edifices of the Acropolis, with all their sculptured images 
and wonderful statues, delivered that unequalled address, re- 
corded in the seventeenth Chapter of Acts. For myself, I 
was more than willing to be left by the steamer ; but it 
would not be right to detain others, and I was obliged to 
hurry down, glancing as I descended once more at the 
prison of Socrates, upon the region of the Lyceum just be- 
yond, and upo'n Mount Hymettus. * » * "W'e met 
Mr. Smith and Dr. King, just in front of the temple of The- 
seus. I was eager to walk through it, but there was not 
one moment to spare. With Dr. King in the carriage, we 
hastened back directly to the quay, and when we reached 
the steamer, the ladder was lashed to the bulwarks, and I 
was obliged to jump on to it, and ask permission to lower 
it for Mr. Smith." 

. I am sure the interest of these extracts froni hasty en- 



MEMOIR. 49 

tries in Professor Fiske's journal, will make every admirer 
of classic Greece regret that he did not make his arrange- 
ments to stay in Athens long enough, to gratify his own in- 
tense curiosity,- and to commit his impressions to paper, in 
that pure classical style, which was so fine a model to all his 
pupils. Had he lived to return from the Holy Land, I 
have no doubt he would have revisited the favorite home of 
philosophy, eloquence, poetry and the arts, and would have 
imparted to us through the press, no little of that enthusi- 
asm and ravishment which he felt himselt. 

Leaving the Peirseus, the steamer appears to have 
touched next at Rhodes, and then at Smyrna. How long 
Professor Fiske remained at the latter place, I have not 
been able to ascertain from the hasty notices in his journal. 
The following brief memoranda, of his passage up the Adri- 
atic and through the Dardanelles, and of his visit to the 
Moslem Capital, are all that my restricted limits will allow 
in this Memoir. 

" Dec. 25. Left Smyrna for Constantinople, in the Aus- 
trian steamer Baron Eichofif: excellent accommodations and 
very gentlemanly officers. Had a fine view of the city, as 
we went out of the harbor. It was late in the afternoon. 
Dark clouds soon settled all around on the horizon, and 
nothing interesting was to be seen, except a striking view of 
the " Two Brothers," as the sun, behind a deep dark blue 
cloud, shone down upon their summits, so that ihey looked 
like two points lifted above the darkness and gloom of earth, 
in bold relief against the pure clear sky beyond, as steps 
from which the soul might take its flight to the world of 
light and purity. Passing Tenedos, we sailed by Assos and 
touched at Mytilene, and passed along the Asiatic coast, 
between Tenedos and Lesbos on one side, and the main 
land on the other. We were now sailing along the coast 
of Troas, and my feelings were indescribable, to find my- 

5* 



50 MEMOIR. 

self so near the spots so celebrated and immortalized, as 
the scenes of Homer's Iliad ; but clouds and mist enveloped 
every thing. In one precious moment of light, however, I 
caught a glance at the plain of Troy and the hills beyond, 
and above them all the towering peak of Mount Ida. I 
dwelt with long, intense interest upon the old classic asso- 
ciations, and the feelings and emotions of my days of Greek 
and Roman studies began to come to life, and shoot up 
through the mass of metaphysic lore, that had been heaped 
upon them.*" 

After noticing many other interesting objects and taking 
several sketches. Professor Fiske proceeds. 

" In the morning when I awoke, the steamer was at an- 
chor, as I supposed in the Golden Horn ; but remembering 
Athens, I resolved not to hurry on deck too eagerly ; and 
having very deliberately washed and dressed, I went above, 
just in season to behold the sun rise in unclouded brightness, 
on the Capital of the Grand Sultan. Onr- vessel was lying 
in the midst of numerous others, in the waters of the Golden 
Horn, I stood in unutterable surprise, beholding the mighty 
city, stretching from the Seraglio point on my left, and 
sweeping around before me on the curve of the waters, un- 
til, without perceiving any break in the seemingly endless 
succession of buildings, the eye had crossed the M'aters, and 
was moving over the suburbs of Galata and Pera on the 
right, where appeared an equally crowded mass of build- 
ings, extending so that to follow them I was obliged to 
turn quite round, until the eye catching a narrow view of 
the Bosphorus, rested upon the city of Scutari, now di- 
rectly in front of me on the coast of Asia — a spot of sur- 
passing beauty. Seraglio point was now a little to my 

=^Ileferring to the change of his professorship from Greek to Mental 
and Moral Philosophy. 



MEMOIR. 61 

right, separated from Scutari by the mouth of the 
Bosphorus, through which we had come from the sea 
of Marmora. At this moment, the sun rose directly over 
Seragho point, and shed a rich glow of beauty both on Scu- 
tari and the gardens and palaces of the Seraglio. Soon his 
rays were reflected from the roofs and glass windows of 
Tophana and Pera, and from the domes and minarets of the 
main city — it was a sight of before unimagined splendor." 

Professor Fiske made the most of the few days he spent 
at Constantinople, in visiting the public buildings and other 
objects, which are most interesting to oriental travelers, 
and in delisrhtful communion with the American Missiona- 
ries, who have so long been laboring to turn the Jews and 
Armenians " from darkness to light, and from the power of 
Satan unto God.'' Here and there a paragraph is written 
out in his journal, but most of the pages are crowded with 
names and hints and other hasty entries, which were intend- 
ed, no doubt, for future reference and enlargement. But 
alas, the only hand that could have brought the rich mate- 
rials together and fashioned them into symmetry and beau- 
ty, was soon to be deprived of " its cunning," by the stroke 
of death. I shall make but one more short extract. We 
have all heard how much more afraid of protestantism the 
Armenian ecclesiastics are, than of open immorality among 
the members of their churches. Here is an example 
of it. 

" At one time the Patriarch called a youth before him 
and said, ' we hear you are becoming a Protestant.' ^ 0, 
no,' said the young man, ' I will tell you. I belong to a so- 
ciety and the president is a hear-driver. "We drink, dance, 
play cards, &c., please your reverence. Are you satisfi- 
ed ? Am I a protestant ?' ^ Very well, you may go,' " 

On his return from Constantinople, Professor Fiske 
touched again at Smyrna, January 8th, 1847, and four days 



52 MEMOIR 

after fo"!^'^ Iiimself safely moored in the harbor of Beirout. 
At this place he remained about three r^o^ths, making short 
excursions from the city in various directions as his heaii^x 
and opportunities would allow, observing the customs and 
studying the character of the people ; collecting geological 
and botanical specimens for the cabinet of his College, and 
greatly enjoying the society of the missionary brethren in 
in that important field. 

Of his landing and reception at Beirout, he thus speaks : 
" Mr. Smith had told me the night before our arrival 
here, that I must be on deck by six o'clock, in order to en- 
joy the sight of Mount Lebanon, in approaching the coast ; 
but the vessel was before that time anchored in the Bay, 
and when I first went on deck, a mist was hanging over the 
whole region, so as to conceal the mountain and the town. 
About 8 o'clock, I went on shore with Mr. and Mrs. Smith 
and Mr. Van Lennep. We were hailed at the landing by 
Mr Chapeau, the American Consul, from a balcony of his 
dwelling, directly above the spot, and invited in. After a 
moment's delay, we jDroceeded to the mission house, occupi- 
ed by Mr. Thompson, where we were all received with 
hearty welcome ; and immediately native friends of Mr. 
Smith began to call, and it was truly affecting, to see how 
glad they were to see him again restored to them. After 
breakfast, I went upon the terrace, and enjoyed one of the 
finest prospects I ever saw, — the gardens and scattered 
houses of the suburbs ; the city with its wall and castles ; 
its mosques and minarets ; the hospital, lazaretto and other 
buildings on quarantine point — the bay of the little stream, 
called the river of Beirout— the broad road-stead further 
out, and the wide sea beyond- — the successive ranges of 
Lebanon, from the head-land far north, quite round to a 
distance in the south — the nearer ranges speckled here and 
there with villages, castles and convents — the more distant 



MEMOIR. 53 

summits, especially the broad top and side of Sumiin cov- 
ered with snow and glistening in the sun-beams. 

" Sabbath. This morning attended worship in the 
chapel of the Mission House ; heard my friend and former 
pupil Mr. Van Lennep preach a good sermon, on the ex- 
cellence and immutable authority of the law of God. 
Have had a little opportunity for retirement ; the first sab- 
bath in which I have enjoyed anything like sacred rest in 
private, since leaving my native land. How little do Chris- 
tians, who have never had their sabbaths broken in upon 
by incidents connected with voyaging and traveling, re- 
alize the value of the holy day." 

Professor Fiske had not been long in Beirout, when he 
was attacked with violent pains and chills, which proved to 
be the commencement of ague and fever, and which, it was 
feared, would frustrate his ardent desire to visit Jerusalem 
and the holy places in that vicinity. He grew better, how- 
ever, in a few days, under the kind and skillful attendance 
of Dr. De Forest, and, as is abundantly proved by copious 
entries in his journal, made the most of his time and op- 
portunities. His notes are fuller and more carefully writ- 
ten cut here than in any other part of his foreign journal, 
and had he returned and given them to the public, they 
would have filled a long chapter. But a few brief extracts 
are all we can find room for. 

Speaking of his sickness, after he had begun to amend, 
he says : 

" I was expecting to enjoy the privilege of being present 
with the missionary brethren in their meeting, instead of 
which I have been confined to the house, and am at this 
moment in feebler health and strength, than when I left 
New York, But I am resolved to commit the whole issue 
to my covenant-keeping God and Savior. If I may re- 
cover health and return to my native land and to my place 



^4 MEMOIR. 

as teacher, and be truly useful, I would so desire ; at least to 
see once more those beloved daughters over v/hom my 
heart yearns ; — nevertheless, tils' will of the Lord be done. 
* * * Let me not forget how frail I am — what 
dangers beset me — -what constant watchfulness against ex- 
posures and fatigues is needed, and how entirely I am de- 
pendent on the Providence and Spirit of God. Lord, do 
thou teach and guide me." 

The following scrap, from the journal before me, is too 
interesting, when taken in connection with the tenth Chapter 
of John, to be withheld from the Christian reader. 

" Flocks of sheep are still, as in Christ's time, here tend- 
ed by a shepherd, who is with them constantly. He knows 
them individually, and names them, however large the flock, 
and when he calls them they follow ; they know his voice i — 
frequently they know their own names, so that when he calls 
them by name, the one called will come out from the rest. 
(See Mr, Hunter), 

" The mode of baking bread is curious. The oven is a 
sort of pit, dug in the earth, lined with smooth blocks of 
stone, three or four feet in diameter, open at the top and 
heated by burning a low bush, or bramble ; (the " grass that 
is cast into the oven.") The dough being mixed, a portion 
of it is thrown, or rather pressed on to the sides of the oven 
and adheres, till it is baked. There are two or three, or 
more of these ovens in a village, according to the number 
of inhabitants. 

" The merchant sits on his legs upon the floor, in front of 
his goods, smoking his chibouque. He never rises in wait- 
ing on his customers, unless compelled to, in order to get 
some article from the shelf, higher than he can reach sitting. 

" There is great want of natural affection among the 
Arabs here, both Christian and Moslem ; especially in pa- 
rents toward their daughters. It is felt to be a calamity, 



MEMOIR. 55 

rather than otherwise, to have a female child. Mrs. H. 
spoke of a woman, wha would frequently say to her infant 
daughter, — ' I wish you were dead and wish you never had 
been born — I hope you will die soon.' If a man weeps at the 
death of his wife, it is counted a great weakness. At Abe- 
ih, a husband lost his wife and at her funeral he wept ; in 
consequence of which, he was so much ridiculed and perse- 
cuted, that he was obliged to leave the village. 

"Jan. 30. Sabbath. A deligirful morning. The snn 
shining brightly ; the air mild and pure ; the wild flowers 
smiling as in an American spring ; the almond tree in blos- 
som; the orange putting out its heads ; the villages on the 
sides and summits of Lebanon resting peacefully, like a bird 
on her nest, while the Jebel Sunnim and the other high 
parts of the chain show their heavy heads, crowned with 
snow and glistening in the sun-beams. Nature seems to en- 
joy her sabbath ; but alas, man here scarcely knows or 
thinks of his Creator. 

" The Jesuits have a missionary establishment here, sup- 
ported, I understand, by the society at Lyons. It was com- 
menced aboutsix years ago. They have a building in the 
gardens and a church or chapel in the city. When they at- 
tempted to build in the city about two years ago, they were 
forbidden to proceed. The Pacha even stationed a guard of 
soldiers at the spot to hinder them. The superior or head 
Jesuit, learning that the son of the Pacha wished to study 
French, contrived to be employed as his teacher and render- 
ed the service gratuitously. After a. while he ventured to 
request that the guard might be withdrawn, and the very 
first night after, the walls of the church went up— a large 
number of workmen being engaged before hand — the stone 
and everything requisite having been previously made rea- 
dy. When a thing is done the Turks always let it go, and 
there the church stands a monument of Jesuitical craft. 



56 MEMOIR. 

" Feb. 7. Sabbatli morning. It is another beautiful 
morning and I m3''self in very comfortable health, and hope 
my strength is increasing. My own heart condemns me, that 
I do not more fully realize my obligations to God, and that 
I live so far from him. O my precious Lord and Savior, 
do not leave me to forget thee in this land, where thou didst 
toil and suffer and die for my salvation. 

" Feb. 22. This is the morning that corresponds to that, 
on which three years ago my beloved wife closed her eyes on 
the cares and sufferings of this life, and entered upon the 
peace of heaven. What a varied scene has my life since 
been ! And is this world still the object of my love ? 
Humbly do I trust that the discipline of God has not been 
wholly in vain. O Lord, help me to offer in sincerity, and 
wilt thou graciously hear the pra^yer : ' Guide me, O thou 
Great Jehovah,' and prepare me to follow her to that ' rest 
which remaineth to the people of God.' " Little did he 
think, probably, how soon he should be with her in para- 
dise. 

" Sabbath. March 20. On the 12th, rode to Abeih, 
and to Rhamdun on the 18th. One object in going to 
Abeih was, to ascertain whether Mr. "Whiting would accom- 
pany me to Jerusalem, feeling that it w^ould hardly be safe 
> enter upon the journey to that place, unless I could have 
the company of some Christian friend acquainted W'ith the 
Arabic language, and the customs of the country. God 
seems to have smiled propitiously on me, in reference to 
the matter. Every obstacle in the w^ay of Mr. "Whiting's 
going has been removed ; and he has resolved to make the 
journey and take me with him. But I cannot foresee the 
future. 1 pray that my trust may not be mere presump- 
tion. May the Lord go with us and keep us in every peril, 
and may my health of body and of soul be promoted." 

Before leaving Beirout, Professor Fiske met and formed 



MEMOIR. 57 

a very pleasant acquaintance with Dr. Paulding from Da- 
mascus. Their conversation naturally turned upon the 
practice of medicine among the Arabs, and the following 
extract shows how embarassing it often is to the missiona- 
aries. 

" The ignorance of the people causes the most sanguine 
expectations. They imagine the UaJdm can cure every- 
thing in a day. When they find their expectations not real- 
ized, they pass to the opposite extreme, and have no confi- 
dence at all. At the same time, it is impossible to make 
them conform to medical directions. Dr. Pauldinsr related 
the case of an Emir, who sent for him as if very sick. The 
Dr. found him merely suffering from the effects of eating 
and drinking; too much at a wedding; feast ; and what the 
Emir wanted him to do, was, to give him a medicine which 
would enable him to eat as much as his appetite might 
crave, without being sick after it. The Dr., of course, 
made no pretension to any such skill, but left him some 
medicine suited to the case, to help the epicure's recovery 
from the late debauch — to be taken in small portions daily, 
for Jifteen days. The Emir, anxious to realize his own 
wishes, the next day took the whole a,t one dose. 

" April 4. My contemplated journey to Jerusalem is 
delayed — Mr. Whiting not being well enough to set out. 
To the kind Providence of God I commit the whole decis- 
ion. I am indeed disappointed and somewhat embarrassed 
by this delay, but I will put my confidence in Him who has 
guided my pilgrimage thus far in life^ and especially since I 
left my native shores. 

"April 12. Commenced the journey from Abeih to 
Jerusalem in company with Mr. Whiting by way of Sidon." 
They pitched their tent at noon, and took some refresh- 
ments, at the place v/here tradition says, Jonah was washed 
ashore by the fish that had swallowed him on his voyage to 

6 



58 MEMOIR. 

Tarsliisli. There they met an old man in a moslem dress, 
who entered into conversation with Mr. Whiting in Arabic, 
which led to the following amusing incident. 

" As the old man used a word or phrase, of which I had 
learned the meaning, I repeated it after him to his great 
amusement, as I lay stretched supinely upon my couch. He 
was curious to learn who that queer Hatoa^ki^ that knows 
so much about Arabic, might be. Mr. Whiting told him I 
was Neby Natan. The title Neby was an electrifier. It 
clothed me at once with an amazing importance with the 
old man, who it seems was the keeper of the Wely of the 
Neby Yonas, and he was sure of a breakfast from a prophet. 
I did not feel much like a prophet and although like Jonah 
I had here a connection with a fish, (he had just dined 
upon one,) the difference between the prophet of old and 
the one now yclept, was no less than that between the re- 
ceiver and the thing received. 

"April 14. My first night in the tent was a very com- 
fortable one indeed. Next night, noticed the manner in 
which the Arabs introduced the name of God and the Son. 
Passing a man, after salutation he said, ' The Lord smooth 
the way for you.' One of them took my rope for tether- 
ing the animals. I shook my head at this use of it. He 
said ' the Lord send you a larger one.' " , 

Both being in feeble health, Professor Fiske and Mr. 
Whiting journeyed leisurely towards Jerusalem as they 
were able to bear it, and entered the city by the Jaffa-gate, 
on the 28th of April. Professor Fiske was exceedingly 
interested with every thing he saw in and about Jerusalem, 
—so much so, as to endanger his life by over exertion, 
though his mind was too much absorbed by the sacred 
associations of the place, to be aware of the danger at the 
time. Had he been in perfect health, he could scarcely 
have been more busy than he was during the few days he 



MEMOIR. 59 

spent there, till he returned again in extreme exhaustion, 
as stated in Mr. Whiting's letter^ hereunto annexed, to lan- 
guish and die in the Holy City. The last entry in his 
journal is dated May 7th, five days before he left with his 
friend, Mr. Whiting, intending to go back by a circuitous 
route to Beirout, but was arrested the first day and com- 
pelled to return, by the disease, which in about a fortnight 
terminated his life. I could here make many extracts of 
no little interest from the journal, did my limits permit. 
The most touching of them all, I cannot withhold from the 
reader. 

" We descended to the spot now pointed out as Gethse- 
mane. On reaching it, and looking at the few olive trees 
now standing there with such an affecting appearance of 
age, no thought of such a question as whether this is the 
real Gethsemane, found place in my mind. Dismounting, 
and standing under one of these olives, I made no effort to 
resist the overpowering impressions of that moment. More 
stupid than a brute, or more hardened than a devil must he 
be, who comes to this spot and realizes that Jesus, the sin- 
ner's friend, did indeed " sweat as it were great drops of 
blood, falling down to the ground," without finding himself 
overwhelmed with emotion and bursting into tears. I am 
not ashamed to confess, that mine flowed freely, and my 
own sinfulness appeared to me in tlie blackest light, while 
the compassion and love of the Redeemer seemed more 
wonderful than ever before. It was a moment in my life, 
never to be forgotten. While I wept and plucked a few 
little yellow flowers, which bloomed among the spreading 
roots of the olive trees, I left the spot scarcely minding 
the noisy Arabs, who were building a new wall around it, 
under the oversight of a black-bearded monk." 

It was happy for Professor Fiske, that he had such a 
traveling companion in his journey to Jerusalem, and such 



60 MEMOIR. 

a brother to watcli over him in his last sickness, as the Rev. 
Mr. Whiting, who had been so long in the missionary 
field, and whose Christian sympathies were so precious to 
the snfrerer in the closhig scene of his life. And the friends 
of Professor Fiske will never cease to bless God, that they 
have so full an account of his sickness and death from the 
pen of Mr. Whiting, in the following letter of condolence, 
which he addressed to Mrs. Martha Vinal of Charlestown, 
Mass , dated Abeih, June 27th, 1847. I present it some- 
what abridged, and on account of its length, have tried to cut 
out more ; but it is a record which I am sure, all who knew 
Professor Fiske, and especially his relatives and former 
College pupils will so highly value, as to be more likely to 
blame me for leaving out any part than to regret my not 
having abridged it more. 

Abeih, Mount Lebanon, 
June 4, 1847. 

Dear Madam, — A letter from Mr. Smith to Dr. Hitch- 
cock will have communicated the afflicting intelligence of 
the decease of your friend Professor Fiske. Having been 
with him during his last days, it devolves upon me to give 
you a somewhat detailed account of his sickness and death. 
It was his own request that I should do this ; and my feel- 
ings would have led me to sit down and write to you before 
leaving Jerusalem on my return to my family and my mis- 
sionary duties. But my own health had suffered some- 
what during that season of anxiety and sorrow ; and when 
it was over, I fell that an immediate change of scene and of 
air was necessary. 

You are doubtless aware of the strong and very natural 
desire that Mr. Fiske cherished, to visit Jerusalem, although 
for some time after his arrival in Syria, he had but little 
hope that this desire would ever be gratified. But in the 
Spring, an opportunity was presented, which he thought a 



MEMOIR. 61 

providential and favorable one, and lie resolved, after con- 
ferring with his friends in Beirout, including Dr. De For- 
est, to embrace it. I was myself in rather a feeble state of 
health, and my brethren recommended journeying for a few 
weeks as likely to be of benefit to me, provided I could se- 
cure company that was agreeable, and that would be wil- 
ling to travel leisurely with me, as my strength would 
bear. It was precisely on these conditions that Professor 
Fiske was wishing to travel. Accordingly, it was not diffi= 
cult for us to settle the preliminaries. I need not add, that 
I promised nayself both pleasure and profit from the society 
of my fellow traveller, and in this I was not disappointed. 

We both felt that health was the great object of pursuit 
in the journey ', and we resolved that all collateral obiects 
should be held subservient to this. Especially we deter- 
mined that we would ride only so far, each day, as we could 
with comfort, and without much fatigue. To this resolu- 
tion ^^e perseveringly adhered. The first day we rode 
about four hours ; the second day, six ; and thereafter we 
traveled about six hours a day on an average. We left 
Abeih on the 13th of April, and reached Jerusalem the 
28th of the same month — making sixteen days, including 
Sundays and other days that we rested — which is double 
the time that ordinary travelers take for that journey. Our 
route was down the coast as far as the Convent of Mount 
Carmel, where we spent a Sabbath. We then left the sea- 
coast, and taking an unfrequented but interesting road, 
along the summit of Mount Carmel, until we reached the 
southeastern extremity of the mountain, fell into a road lead- 
ing down through the midst of the plain of Sharon, to Jaffa, 
We rested at Jaffa three days, including the Sabbath. 
While there, Mr. Fiske had a slight attack of diarrhoea, 
which he attributed to eating rather freely of the fine oran- 
ges with which the place abounds. 



02 MEMOIR. 

On Monday we left Jaffa, and rode leisurely up to Jeru- 
salem, taking three days for this part of our journey. 
Upon the whole, Mr. Fiske's health appeared to have im- 
proved on the journey. He had gained strength, his appe- 
tite was better, and he could bear more labor and fatigue 
than when he left Beirout. He had also enjoyed the jour- 
ney much, as I think will be apparent from the notes which 
he made by the way. The visit at Jerusalem also, which 
lasted fourteen days, was very pleasant and veiy interest- 
ing to him. His health, however, during those two w'eeks, 
did not improve as on the journey. There was all the while 
a little tendency to diarrhoea ; so little however, that he did 
not think it necessary to take medicine, or even to make 
much chan2:e in his diet. 

Yfe made our calculations to leave Jerusalem on our re- 
turn, on Tuesday the 11th of May. The day previous, 
Mr. Fiske did not feel as well as usual, and I noticed 
that in packing his trunk, and putting up some flowers 
and geological specimens, he became a good deal fatigued. 
I begged him to lie down and rest, and let me finish the 
packing, which he did. That evening we spent, by invita- 
tion, at Dr. Macgowan's, with a number of our valued 
Cliristian friends in Jerusalem. Mr. Fiske was observed 
liy some of oar friends to look ill, or at least very much 
fatigued. He told me before he went that he scarcely felt 
able to spend the evening in company. And yet neither of us 
thought his indisposition was anything serious. We had 
both felt for a few days the want of exercise in the open 
air, and hoped that by commencing our journey moderately, 
and sleeping in the tent a night or two, we should recruit 
again, as we had done on the journey down. Alas, how 
sadly these hopes were to be disappointed ! 

The next morning, Mr. Fiske felt better, and was quite 
disposed to set out, While I was waiting a little to finish 



MEMOIR. 63 

some business, be proposed to ride down once more to the 
fountain of Siioam. I suggested that it would prolong his 
day's ride about half an hour, and that it might be better to 
husband his strength. However, he felt so well that he 
thought it would do him no harm. He accordingly went 
down to the fountain, and thence round the city on the east 
side, and joined me on the north side at the road we were 
to take. We then rode on slowly, to a village called 
el-Bireh, three hours from Jerusalem. Here we halted, 
and took some refreshment. Mr. Fiske thought he felt bet- 
ter than when we started, and wished to proceed according 
to our plan, two or three hours farther. We went on ; but 
before we reached the place where we were to pitch our 
tent, he became very wearj'-, and complained of pain and 
soreness in the abdomen, with some fever. He had said but 
little during this part of the ride, and I was not aware how 
much he was suffering, until we stopped. I then perceived 
that he was seriously ill, and learned more fully than I had 
before, how much disordered he had been for several days. 
It now appeared, and still more clearly during the night, 
that his complaint was assuming the form of an alarming 
dysentery. We felt that we had committed a great error 
in commencing the journey while he was in that state : and 
my own opinion was, though I did not express it to him at 
the time, that he would not be able to prosecute the journey 
by land. I thought we should have to return to Jerusalem, 
and after Mr. Fiske should recover, go down to Jaffa, and 
return to Beirout by sea. However, I did what I could to 
make him comfortabfe that night. He was restless the 
first half of the night, but afterwards slept. In the morning 
he was too unwell to move, and we remained where wq 
were, Mr. Fiske taking only a little rice-water and gruel 
during the day. Happily the day was very cool and cloudy, 
otherwise he would have suffered in the tent from the heat. 



64 MEMOIR. 

"We were now between five and six hours from Jerusalem. 
At an early hour I despatched a messenger to Jerusalem, 
with a letter to Dr. Macgowan, of the English Mission, 
requesting medicine, and advice. The messenger returned 
before evening, with very kind letters from both Dr. Mac- 
gowan and the Rev. Mr. Nicolayson, and also with medi- 
cine, which relieved the patient much that nighty so that he 
had some quiet rest. The advice which Dr. Macgowan 
gave was, that we should return directly to Jerusalem, 
where Mr. Fiske could have the comforts and the medical 
treatment that he needed. Dr. Macgowan moreover kindly 
and urgently invited us to come directly to his house. Mr. 
Fiske, on hearing the note of Dr. Macgowan. seemed at 
first a little surprised that so serious a view was taken of 
his illness, and the idea of giving up the journey through 
the interior of Palestine was trying. However, he did not 
really hesitate. The decision of his judgment was entirely 
in accordance with the advice he had now received. Accord- 
ingly in the morning I prepared his horse in the most com- 
fortable way I could invent, and we rode gentlj^ back to Jeru» 
salem. We made two long stops on the road, and spread 
down a bed for Mr. Fiske to rest an hour or two each time. 
It was near night when we reached Jerusalem. We were 
received in the kindest manner by Dr. and Mrs. Macgowan, 
and when I saw my sick friend in a comfortable bed, and in 
such kind and skillful hands, I felt relieved of a load of 
responsibility and care, and thankful for the kind provi- 
dence that had brought us thither, and raised us up these 
kind friends in the time of need. It had been an anxious 
day to me, as well as a painful one to him. I knew the 
ride could not but aggravate the disease ; but there was 
plainly nothing to be done but to get the patient back to 
Jerusalem as quietly and as easily as possible. We felt it 



MEMOIR^ 65 

was an infinite mercy that we were not so far on our way 
as to render it impossible to return. 

It was on Thursday, 13th May, that we returned to the 
holy city. The next day, after Mr. Fiske had somewhat 
recovered from the fatigue of the ride, Dr. Macgowan's 
efforts were directed to the reducing the infiamnation and 
soreness in the abdomen. For the moment the effect of 
leeches and other remedies seemed to be favorable. But on 
Saturday it appeared that the disease w^as not checked. Dr. 
Macgowan regarded the case as a very serious one ; the 
more so, on account of the chronic disease under which the 
patient had so long labored. 

For three or four days there seemed to be no essential 
change. Dr. Macgowan thought the patient was not losing 
ground during this time, which was, in itself, an encourag- 
ing fact. Mr. Fiske meanwhile thought the disease was 
going slowly but steadily on, and his prevailing impression 
was that ii would terminate fatally. On Monday or Tues- 
day, he told me he felt the case had assumed a very serious 
aspect, and he desired to know Dr, Macgowan's real opin- 
ion. Dr. Macgowan frankly told bim, that the disease was 
not, as yet, arrested ; and that, although he by no means 
thought the case hopeless, yet he could not deny that it 
was one of real danger. Mr. Fiske was not at all discom- 
posed when he heard this opinion. He had all along felt 
persuaded there was no real improvement, although occa- 
sionally some symptoms had appeared favorable. He had 
before conversed with me very freely on the subject of his 
death ; but now still more freely, and with great composure 
of mind. He said he would have desired, if such had been 
the will of God, to recover, and return to his native land. 
He felt especially desirous to see his children again, and 
he spoke of them with great tenderness. But he desired 
most of all, that the will of God might he done. In regard 



66 MEMOIR. 

to his cliildren he said, that if his death might be sanctified 
to them, and be the means of leading them to Christ, he 
should rejoice to die for their good. He expressed also a 
strong affection towards the members of our mission circle, 
and a deep interest in the missionary cause, and said he 
should have rejoiced to speak again in behalf of that cause 
to Christians in America. All this however, he now felt 
he could leave with the Lord. 

On Tuesday, the 18th, he suffered a good deal, and feared 
he was not bearing the pain patiently. " Let me have pa- 
tience, he said devoutly, and not be the cause of suffering 
to others." But in truth, to others he appeared patient m 
an uncommon degree. And throughout the whole illness. Dr. 
Macgowan said he had never seen a patient exhibit a more 
submissive, sweet. Christian spirit than he did. He had 
very low views of himself, as an unworthy sinner ; but 
seemed to look with a steady sober faith, to Christ as his 
hope. 

On Wednesday morning, I found on coming to him that 
he had passed a tolerably q^uiet night. And yet on inquiring 
how he felt, he said, " 1 feel that the tabernacle is coming 
down." No very marked alteration took place however, 
until Friday the 21st. Up to that time. Dr. Macgowan 
had cherished some hope that there would be a change for 
the better ; but now he noticed a change that was decidedly 
unfavorable. Mr. Fi&ke was not in the least discomposed 
when I told him of this fact. I quote a few words from a 
letter I addressed that day to my brethren at Beirout, " He 
is quite aware of the state of things. His mind is calm, 
and he seems to rest with a steady confidence upon his 
Redeemer. He looks into the unseen world with great 
solemnity, but with firm trust in Christ ; and he utterly dis- 
claims every other hope and confidence. He has strong 
views of his own sinfulness, but says, 'he feels that he can 



MEMOIR. 67 

commit this poor body, and tliis guilty spirit, into tlie 
Savior's hands.' I told him I \yas writing to the brethren. 
He says, ' Give my dying love to them all — and many, many 
thanks for all their kindness to me. Tell them 1 am quiet, 
I hope not deceived — \ seem to he willing to have it so — and 
rejoice to he in the Lord'^s hands ' " 

Perhaps I cannot continue the narrative better than by 
quoting from another letter which I wrote on Monday morn- 
ing5 May 24th. " When I last wrote, Mr. Fiske appeared 
to be failing rapidly. He rallied again a little the next day; 
and Dr. Macgowan, hoping against hope, continued faithful- 
ly to use every effort in his power. So he has done till the 
present hour, but his patient has continued to sink. This 
morning he seems very weak, and has a more death-like 
appearance than ever. For the last two days, he has suf- 
fered much pain. Yesterday he feared he was becoming or 
should become impatient. Also his mind in the morning 
was somewhat beclouded. But towards evening he told me 
he thought he had got the victory. It had looked to him 
dark and mysterious that the hand of God was laid upon 
him in this sudden manner, and brought him right down to 
this low and suffering state, in the midst of his journey, and 
among strangers. ' But now, said he, ' it is all cleared up 
to me, and I feel perfectly M^illing to be here and suffer the 
will of God — and to suffer it, as His will. I feel as thou oh 
his presence is with me here, and that He is not my enemy.'' 
He said more to the same effect, expressing his gratitude to 
his gracious Redeemer, and confidence in him. He spoke 
with difficulty and pain, owing to a distressing hiccup, 
which he has had for two or three days. I converse, read, 
and pray with him frequently, for which he is exceedingly 
thankful. Dr. and Mrs. Macgowan seem to feel it a privi- 
lege to be with him and minister to his wants, and to regard 
Lis patience and calm confidence in God as highly edifying. 



68 MEMOIR. 

" Evening. On my coming in from a ride this evening, 
Mr. Fiske seemed glad to see me, and said his mind was a 
good deal disturbed, and he needed the help of a Christian 
friend, to guide his thoughts, and keep the great truths of 
the Gospel before hib mind. I repeated those words of the 
apostle, IhioiD in ivhom I have believed, and am persuaded 
that He is aUe, &c. and asked him if he felt that he could, 
like Paul when he was about to die, with humble confidence 
commit his body and soul into the hands of Christ, assured 
that he could and would keep and save both. He replied, 
with characteristic modesty — "^ It seems as though I can — I 
think so. I do not believe He will reject me, and put 
my soul among his enemies.' — This last thought of having 
his lot among the enemies of God, he has often alluded to, 
as what he cannot endure. And the hope of being with 
the saints, in perfect holiness, and in the presence of God, 
is inexpressibly swset and precious to him. In the course 
of this conversation this evening, I asked him whether, if it 
were left to his choice, he would now desire to be raised up 
from this sick bed, and return to his friends. He said, * I 
have no desire to have it left to my choice at all : I see 
it so clearly to be the manifested will of God that I should 
lie here and suffer — and I feel perfectly satisfied with all. 
\t h just right — -just right. This is now my work, which 
God has given me to do—to fill up his will, by patiently 
suffering and wasting away. I would that it may be filled 
up soon — that you may be released from attending upon 
me, and that these dear friends may be released from the 
care and trouble I occasion them. And let not Satan be 
allowed to set upon me, to buffet me, and fill my mind with 
thoughts and images of what might have been. Dear 
Redeemer,^ he fervently added, * keep me, I beseech thee, from 
all murmuring — help me to trust in thee — -and give me the 
victory.^ He also expressed the earnest desire that in thus 



MEMOIR. 69 

suffering the will of God on this bed of pain and death, he 
might not be left to do or say anything to dishonor his 
Savior ; and that the whole dispensation might be greatly 
sanctified to surviving friends when they hear of it." 

"Tuesday morning, 26th. Our friend seems much as 
he was yesterday, except that he is weaker, and his mind 
wandering. Still, at times, he speaks in a very clear and 
satisfactory manner of his views and feelings. He says he 
is entirely satisfied to lie here and suffer and do the will of 
God. He appears to have a very distinct apprehension of 
his sinfulness, and a clear view of Christ as the Savior of 
the guilty and the lost. And though on other subjects he 
talks incoherently, it is very pleasing to see that on this 
great subject his ideas are so clear and so just. He again 
expressed, this morning, the warmest gratitude to God for 
those kind friends who have received him into their house, 
and for my presence with him in his sickness." 

" Thursday, 27th May, During the last night. Dr. Mac- 
gowan watched with Mr. Fiske. His mind continued in a 
state of delirium, and the most he said was uttered incohe- 
rently. And yet, by rousing him, it was easy to gain his 
attention, and get answers to questions. Moreover he sev- 
eral times took a little nourishment. Dr. Macgowan, wish- 
ing to ascertain whether he still retained a recollection of 
those precious truths which had so greatly comforted him 
during his illness, asked him if he still had peace of mind. 
He appeared to understand the question, and replied, * Yes, 
I have peace. "^ — Are you able to lift up your thoughts to the 
Lord ? He said, distinctly, though slowly — * Yes — I joy — 
in the Lord — of my salvation.'' This, said Dr. Macgowan, 
was uttered, a word at a time, and yet the thought was 
brought out very distinctly. And these were the last cohe- 
rent intelligible words that he spoke. 

" At the dawn of day, Dr, Macgowan retired to rest, and 

7 



70 MEMOIR, 

I took his place. Mr. Fiske was lying in a tolerably quiet 
state when I came to him, but soon afterwards his groans 
showed that he was suffering under pain, though now quite 
unconscious of every thing. The dying strife was now 
rapidly going on. Every breath was accompanied by a 
groan. After a while the groans gradually died away, and 
at about 6 o'clock he quietly breathed his last. I closed his 
eyes, and with the assistance of two native attendants, who 
had watched during the night in company with Dr. Mac- 
gowan, dressed the body for burial. ^' 

" There were some reasons that rendered it desirable the 
burial should take place with as little delay as possible. 
Accordingly, four o'clock V. M. of that same day was ap- 
pointed for the funeral. At that hour our friends convened 
at the house of Dr. Macgowan, and walked thence, with the 
body, to the English chapel, where, at my request, the bur- 
ial service of the church of England was read by the Rev. 
Mr. Nicolayson. All the members of the Mission who 
were in Jerusalem at the time, including bishop Gobat and 
his family, together with the English and Prussian Consuls, 
were present, and all followed the body, in solemn proces- 
sion, from the chapel to the burial ground on Mount Zion, 
where the mournful service was completed by committing 
the remains of our departed brother to the ground, in the 
sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life 
through Jesus Christ our Lord. There the precious dust 
reposes, beside that of two lamented missionaries, and with- 
in a few yards of the sepulchre of David. 

Sweet is the savor of their names, 
And soft their sleeping bed. 

Thus, dear madam, you have a faithful account of the last 
days of your beloved friend and relative. It is long : but I 
-do not think you will wish it shorter, although to a stranger, 



MEMOIR. 71 

or one less interested in the subject than yourself, it might 
be tedious. 

On reviewing what I have written, it seems to me that a 
few points deserve to have a little more prominence than is 
given them in the narrative. 

One thing, which much impressed my own mind, was the 
very affectionate solicitude which Mr. Fiske expressed in 
regard to his children. I wish I could see those dear chil- 
dren, now left in a double sense orphans, th^t I might tell 
them by word of mouth what I saw of their honored fath- 
er's tender love to them, of his deep concern for their ever- 
lasting well-being, and of the earnest prayers I heard him 
offer in their behalf. No subject lay with greater weight 
upon his mind than the welfare of his children's souls. This 
was apparent to me even before his illness. I now remem- 
ber one occasion in particular, which I cannot forbear to 
mention. It was on the Sabbath which we spent at Mount 
Carmel. He was leading in our social devotions ; and after 
mentioning my case and that of my family, his thoughts 
turned to his own beloved children ; and while his feelings 
nearly choked his utterance, he poured forth his prayers for 
them, with a tenderness and fervor which, if those children 
could have witnessed it, would have made an impression 
on their minds never to be forgotten. 

Another thing I wish to notice a little more particularly, 
is the very great and persevering kindness of Dr. and Mrs. 
Macgowan. If Professor Fiske had been their own brother, 
it seems to me they could not have done more for him than 
they did. And they manifestly felt it not a burden but a 
privilege, to minister to the wants of our sick brother, and 
to witness his sweet, Christian submission, and his calm trust 
in God in the prospect of death. I ought to mention also 
the very kind attentions of all the members of the English 
Mission, especially of bishop Gobat and his excellent lady, 



72 MEMOIR. 

all of whom sliowed a Christian sympathy and kindness 
that was very comforting to our friend, and I must add af- 
fecting to my own mind. All those friends had become 
much interested in Professor Fiske during our first visit, 
and had shown towards both of us every possible Christian 
civility and attention, and when the providence of God 
again placed him in the midst of them, not now as a guest 
merely, but as a sick and dying man, their interest in him 
was naturally deepened. I think they all felt too, that his 
sick chamber, as long as he was able to see and converse 
with friends, was a privileged place. Bishop Gobat, who 
often visited him during his illness, and who is a man quick 
to see the hand of God in his dealings with his people, said 
to me the evening after the funeral, " I think it has truly 
been eood for us all. that our friend was sent here to die 
amongst us ; and I thank God for the spiritual advantage 
we have derived from this whole dispensation." 

As it respects myself, it was a part of the Lord's plan that 
I should accompany his servant, and be with him at his 
death. That I now look upon as the chief design of the 
journey. It was not designed, that both of us invalids 
should regain our health and strength. That object was not 
to be attained by either of us. But the design was that one 
of us should find a grave on Mount Zion, and the other 
have the mournful privilege of ministering, in some small 
degree, to the spiritual comfort and refreshment of his dying 
friend in his last days. A privilege I certainly did and do 
esteem it, and I pray that I may profit by it, as I desire 
to be thankful for it, while I live. And when my time shall 
come, may the same rich grace sustain me in the trying 
hour, that was given to my departed brother ! 

I close my long letter. May God sustain and comfort 
you, dear madam, and all those numerous friends and rela- 
tives upon whom this blow will fall heavily. And may the 



MEMOIR. 73 

bereavement be greatly sanctified, according to tbe dying 
wish and prayer of our friend, not only to liis immediate 
relatives, but also to the College, to his respected associates 
there, and to the whole community. 

With christian sympathy and regard, 

Your friend and brother, 
G. B. "Whiting. 



To Mrs. Martha Yinal, 
Charlestown, Mass. 



} 



Thus did Professor Fiske sicken and languish and die, 
far from his home and all his "kindred according to the 
flesh." Feeble as he was when he embarked for Smyrna 
and the Holy Land, we trusted that his valuable life would 
be spared — that the breath of the sea and of Lebanon 
would almost make him young again ; that leaving behind 
his cares and forgetting his infirmities, he would go on 
" from strength to strength," till he had compassed the whole 
land of the prophets ; and after climbing the pyramids, and 
threading the catacombs, he would return enriched, as but 
,few are by their travels, to impart his acquired affluence of 
wisdom and knowledge to many successive classes in the 
College which he loved so well. 

Yes, we had fondly hoped, that after traveling through 
many countries, reaping and gleaning as he went, he Avould 
return in due time, " bringing his sheaves with him." But 
" he will no more return to his house." The Faculty of the 
College will no more be aided by his counsels, nor the 
young men profited and charmed by his able instructions. 

Like Paul he went up to Jerusalem, " not knowing the 
things that should befall him there," though in no such peril 
of " bonds and imprisonment.'' Like his Savior he went 
up to Jerusalem to die, not a bloody and violent death in 

the midst of enemies gnashing on him with their teeth ; but 

7* 



74 MEMOIR. 

to die quietly in his bed, cheered by his Savior's presence 
and enjoying all the ministering assiduities, which medical 
skill and christian sympathies could afford. In Jerusalem 
he died ; on Mount Zion, and near to the tomb of David 
was he buried. How near to the sepulchre of Jesus him- 
self, " who is the resurrection and the life," does he sleep ; 
and O how sweet to sleep in Jesus, till the glorious morn- 
ing breaks ! Though one place is no nearer heaven than 
another, what disciple is there, who, if his Master should 
call him home, while journeying in a foreign land, would 
not wish to die at Jerusalem rather than any other spot on 
the globe. Jerusalem, the chosen city of our God ; the 
scene of so many sacred associations ; the spot where the 
glorious work of redemption was consummated ! Who at 
death would not love to go up from Jerusalem below, to 
Jerusalem above, " which is the mother of us all ?" Who 
would not rejoice on the morning of the resurrection, to as- 
cend from Jerusalem vv^ith the patriarchs and prophets and 
martyrs, to "meet the Lord in the air" 'at his coming? 
Who that pants for "glory and honor and immortality," will 
not sing with our dear departed friend, 

" Jerusalem ! my liappy home, 
Name ever dear to me. 

^U. 4£. ^ ^ ^ .\£^ 

1^ -w- •??• ^ -K* -^ 

There happier bowers than Eden's bloom, 

Nor sin nor sorrow know, 

Blest seats ! through rude and stormy scenes, 

I onward press to you. 

Why should I shrink at pain and woe, 

Or feel at death dismay 1 

I've Canaan's goodly land in view. 

And realms of endless day." 

Thus, "man lieth down and riseth not. Till the heavens 
be no more, they shall not awake nor be raised out of their 



MEMOIR. 75 

sleep." But " though dead," Professor Fiske " yet speak- 
eth," through the lips of surviving hundreds, whom he 
taught how to speak and how to think, and it remains that 
we not only " magnify the grace of God that was in him," but 
attempt a brief estimate of his talents, his industry, his va- 
rious classical and philosophical attainments, his eminent 
skill and success as a teacher, his high rank as a preacher, 
and the admirable symmetry of his intellectual and moral 
character, 

HIS TALENTS. 

No man, after his sophomore year in College, is a uni- 
versal genius. No one does or can excel in everything. 
But " every man has his proper gift of God, one after this 
manner, another after that manner." As in the days of the 
apostles, there were " diversities of supernatural gifts, but 
the same spirit ; as to one was given by the spirit, the word 
of wisdom ; to another the word of knowledge by the same 
spirit ; to another the gifts of healing by the same spirit ;' 
so in every age, " there are diversities of natural gifts by 
the same God, vv^ho worketh all in all." Some are far more 
richly endowed by nature than others, and in cases where it 
is hard to say which is the greater man of the two, the prom- 
inent gifts of one are often very different from those of the 
other. One is born a poet, and another a philosopher. One 
has a natural taste for polite literature and another for 
the sciences, and the few who are capable of distinguish- 
ing themselves in almost anything they choose, still have 
preferences and aptitudes in which their greatest strength 
lies. This was the case with Professor Fiske. The diver- 
sity of his gifts was remarkable. There were specific lines 
in which he excelled. 

When we heard the examination of his classes in Homer 
and Demosthenes, and listened to his admirable lectures on 



76 MEMOIR. 

Greek literature, we verilj thought that he lived only 
among the ancient orators and poets. But it appears from 
entries in his journal while in College, that while there his 
favorite study was intellectual philosophy ; and I think I 
have heard him say since, that his earliest preference was for 
mathematics rather than for the languages. 

He never " saw men as trees walking'' — never " saw a 
great tumult without knowing what it was." If his eye 
was rather microscopic than telescopic ; if he did not see 
quite so far as some other gifted men, what he did see, he 
saw clearly. There was no blur, no mist about it. Every 
thing that fell under his eye, was itself, and not something 
else. His glance was intuitive, and it was exceedingly 
piercing. His mind was eminently analyticaL It ap- 
parently cost him little effort, to reduce the most stubborn 
proposition to its simplest elements. Whatever went into 
his crucible, was melted down and analyzed at once. He 
saw the relations of truth, whether physical or metaphysi- 
cal, moral or scientific, with singular clearness, and could 
unravel the subtlest web of sophistry, with surpassing dex- 
terity. 

In the popular sense of the term, Professor Fiske had 
but little imagination, or if he had, he never permitted it 
to soar amid the treacherous currents of the upper air ; and 
yet, he had a high appreciation of it, in such authors as 
Homer and Milton and Dante. His taste for the sublime 
and beautiful was as discriminating as it was exquisite. 
Few men had a keener sense of the ludicrous, or could 
easier make it doubly ludicrous, if he chose. Of sparkling 
repartees and biting sarcasms he had his quiver full, and 
when wanted for defence, they were ever ready to leap out 
like the lightning's flash. His wit of which he was very 
sparing, was generally exquisitely polished and glittering, 



MEMOIR. 77 

and was brought to tlae keenest edge. But however deep it 
might sometimes cut, it never haggled. The wound healed 
by the first intention. 

Every close observer of distinguished men must have 
been struck with this remarkable difference in their mental 
constitutions ; that while some will believe nothing till it is 
'proved, others are ready to believe everything, till it is dis~ 
proved. The former must have mathematical demonstra- 
tion. Of moral certainty, before they will embrace any new 
theory, however plausible it may be ; whereas the latter are 
captivated at once, and take its truth for granted, till it is 
shown to be false. One is a man of lines and angles and 
logical formula?., to which he clings with the greatest tenac- 
ity ; while another is dazzled with hypotheses, and lured by 
the faintest probabilities. Each may be eminently useful 
in his sphere, while both are apt to err in opposite ex- 
tremes. If the former is too skeptical, the latter is too cred- 
ulous. The one is a rigid logician, and the other an adven- 
turous theorist. While the one abides forever in the midst 
of settled truths and acknowledged certainties, the other 
launches out boldly into the regions of speculation and dis- 
covery ; and though the latter often labors in vain, he now 
and then finds, if not the philosopher's stone, which he was 
in quest of, something far more valuable to his country and 
the world ; while, though the former commits no mistakes, 
he makes no discoveries. 

Professor Fiske belonged to the class of the realists. I 
borrow the term to save circumlocution. He had not a par- 
ticle of credulity in his nature ; and of course, he never 
could have made a great discoverer. He never was en- 
tranced by mere moonshine in his life ; but if his extraor- 
dinary cautiousness saved him from mistakes, I think it 
sometimes repressed invention, and circumscribed the range 
of his active and powerful mind. He would have been 



78 MEMOIR. 

more popular — perhaps lie would have made the world a 
greater debtor, if he had been more sanguine and hopeful. 

His love of order was remarkable. Every book, every 
paper, every letter, every memorandum must be in its 
place. He wanted every thing, to which he might have 
occasion to refer, so arranged, that he could lay his hand 
upon it in the darkest night ; and he could not understand 
how anybody of the opposite habit could get along at all. 
"What he was in his library, he was everywhere else : in 
his family, in his lecture-room, in all his plans and move- 
ments he was eminently a man of order. 

Among strangers. Professor Fiske was constitutionally 
reserved ; but he was everywhere a close observer of men 
and things. The glances of his keen eye went deeper, than 
any but his intimate friends were aware of. So great was 
his modesty, that but few, out of that circle, had an ade- 
quate appreciation of his talents and acquirements. He 
was one of the last men I ever knew, to " sound a trumpet 
before him," either at home or abroad. If men wished to 
find out what he was, and would take the trouble, they 
might ; but of one thing they might rest assured, he would 
never obtrude himself upon their notice. I was going to 
add, that with all his gravity and reserve, Professor Fiske 
was, at proper times, and in unrestrained social intercourse 
delightfidly companionable. He had within him an inex- 
haustible fund of facetiousness, which was ordinarily "a 
fountain sealed," but which would sometimes overflow and 
sparkle and exhilarate almost in spite of himself. It was 
facetiousness of a peculiar kind : so apt, so delicate, so polf 
ished, so chaste and guarded, as never to wound the nicest 
sensibilities ; but on the contrary, so refined and exquisite 
as to delight one whose eye was quick enough to see the 
flash, and whose taste was refined enough to hold commun- 
ion with such a mind. 



MEMOIR. 79 

But I am dwelling too long, I fear, upon these topics. 
Such were Professor Fiske's rich mental endowments ; such 
was the foundation on which he had to build, and with what 
diligence and skill did he finish the superstructure ? "We 
have seen that his faculties were of a very high order: how 
and with what success did he cultivate and improve them ? 
A man may be rarely gifted by his Creator, may have great 
abilities and yet never distinguish himself in any thing. 
But, 

FROFESSOR FISKE WAS A TRUE SCHOLAR. 

In his boyhood, as we have seen from his journal, neither 
he nor his friends contemplated anything like a public edu- 
cation ; and but for one of those Providences, mis-called 
accidents^ he would probably have spent his life in cultiva- 
ting the soil, rather than his own mind and the minds of 
hundreds in more than twenty College classes, who will 
ever regard him as one of their ablest instructors. 

What then was his rank as a scholar ? The words scholar 
and scholarship are indefinite and comparative terms. 
Thus we say, that the most forward boy in a primary 
school, is a fine scholar ; that he who recites his lessons 
most accurately, in an academy or high school, is an excel- 
lent scholar ; that the under-graduate in College, who mas- 
ters all the text books, and makes the most rapid proficiency. 
is a first rate scholar ; and that the man who devotes his 
life to liberal studies, with eminent success, is a ripe scholar. 

Professor Fiske went through all these stages of scholar- 
ship. He was a fine scholar in the common school, an ex- 
cellent scholar in the academy, and a first rate scholar in 
College ; or in the language of one of the Professors, " he 
was a hard student and held a high rank as a scholar. He 
thoroughly explored every department of learning, which 



80 MEMOIR. 

he attempted. He was thought to be constitutionally accu- 
rate, patient in his investigations, and wise in his conclu- 
sions." But when he graduated and when he resi2:ned the 
Tutorship in Dartmouth College, Fiske was far, very far 
from reckoning himself a scholar, in the higher sense of the 
term. He felt that at most he had only laid the foundation, 
and that it would cost many years of hard labor, to carry up 
and give anything like a classical finish to the edifice. How 
different from your young masters of all wisdom, who look 
upon their last recitation in College, not only as " the end of 
the law " there, but as the end of all such hard mental drudg- 
ery anywhere ; and who henceforth rely infinitely more 
upon their wits, their genius, their Commencement orations 
and Latin diplomas, to give them a literary currency, than 
upon any future attainments. They wear the finest broad- 
cloth, it may be, and make the handsomest bow upon the 
stage, and receive the congratulations of their friends, and 
go home and lay up their classics for the moths to digest, 
while they themselves are devouring ship-loads of garbage, 
labelled polite literature, as it is served up, reeking from the 
sewers of London and Paris, 

The rank to which Professor Fiske attained, as a scholar, 
in the estimation of the most competent judges, may be in- 
ferred from the following brief extracts of letters from three 
distinguished Professors, who knew him well, and whose 
standard of scholarship is very high. 

One of them, referring to the change of his Professor- 
ship from Languages to Intellectual and Moral Philosophy, 
says : " Had he chosen to continue his linguistic studies, it 
admits not of a doubt, that he would have become one of 
the most accomplished Greek scholars in the country." 

Another writes : " My estimate of Professor Fiske as a 
scholar, is high. He possessed great accuracy and unwea- 
ried diligence j a sound judgment, and what is often not 



MEMOIR. 81 

found combined with these, a fine taste. I have often 
thought, that had his lot been cast among more ample 
means and the opportunities for higher pursuits, he would 
have taken a stand in the foremost ranks, as an elegant 
and profound scholar. He was so, even now, according to 
the measure of his opportunities." 

Another says : " Professor Fiske's Manual of Classical 
Literature is not to be regarded merely, or chiefly, as a 
translation from F^schenburg. Tlie work is indeed, as it 
imports to be, a compilation. But a very large ]3art of it 
is brought together from such a variety of different sources, 
and so much modified by the judgment of the compiler, that 
it has, at least this part of it, almost as much originality, as 
a work of this kind can have. Every time I look at the 
book, I am amazed at the vast compass of information 
which it contains, and at the industry requisite to bring it 
all into so condensed and systematic a form. Such a the- 
saurus of various information, on subjects pertaining to 
classical literature, does not, to my knowledge, exist any- 
where in the English language. Not only the student, but 
the professor, finds here no mean substitute for a large col- 
lection of books, which treat on the several topics embraced 
in this one volume.'' This work has been introduced as a 
text book, into Amherst College, Harvard University and 
several other Colleges of the highest standing. 

Every true scholar understands the general process, by 
which high literary and philosophical attainments are made. 
It is by close thinking, by hard study, by patient and en- 
during application. " That memorable answer which Sir 
Isaac Newton gave to the illustrious foreigner, who compli- 
mented him on the greatness of his genius, and the wonder- 
ful extent of his discoveries, is worthy of the great man 
who made it." " Indeed, sir, you are in a mistake on both 
points. The objects, indeed, are vast and magnificent ; 

8 



82 . MEMOIR. 

and therefore I made a fortunate choice for my reputation ; 
but they are comprehensible by the most ordinary genius, if 
he will but take my method, never to hurry. If I have any 
advantages over other naturalists, it is only in a more patient 
thinking, in which I perhaps exceed many of them. To 
this I am indebted for all my success." 

Professor Fiske took the same method. He never spent 
an hour in searching for a royal road to the temple of sci- 
ence. He had the good sense to go straight up the hill, 
and to toil patiently on, as his strength would allow. Like 
the athletse in the games, he prepared himself for the 
struggle by severe training. For nothing was he more 
remarkable, than for the command which he had gained 
over the powers of his mind. He could fix his thoughts 
upon a Greek particle, a mathematical problem, a logical 
argument, or a metaphysical distinction, and hold them 
there as long as he pleased. Very few scholars have 
carried their mental discipline to a higher state of perfec- 
tion ; and this lay at the foundation of all his attainments. 
The instruments with which he worked were ground and 
polished, and always within his reach. If his thoughts ever 
stole away and played truant, they were sure of being soon 
arrested in their sports, and brought back and held to a 
closer confinement, if possible, than that from which they 
had escaped. 

Professor Fiske saw just what he wanted to do and how 
it should be done ; and then began at the beginning. 
Having once commenced, he advanced step by step, from 
the more simple to the more complex, and nothing could 
turn him aside to the right hand or to the left. It was not 
in his nature to be sitperjicial, and this rendered it so diffi- 
cult for him to tolerate skimming the surface in his pupils. 
He regarded the elements of things, as the things them- 
selves, and having once taken up a subject in earnest, he 



MEMOIR. 83 

never left it till lie understood it. In studying a language, 
he first made himself a thorough master of the grammar, 
and then of its idioms, etymologies and anomalies. Before 
grappling with the unbending lines and sharp angles of 
mathematics, he armed himself with axioms, rules and 
definitions : and so with the first truths and definitions of 
his favorite science of mental philosophy. His policy was, 
to clear away every thing before him as he advanced. 
Whatever he gained he held, and every fresh triumph pre- 
pared the way for a greater. How diiferent from those 
mis-named scholars, who never make themselves thorough 
masters of any thing in the progress of their studies ; but 
recklessly advance, as into an enemy's country, leaving all 
the strong fortresses in their rear, to shut them in and force 
them to surrender, ingloriously, at discretion. 

For nothing, perhaps, was Professor Fiske more remark- 
able, than for his industry and perseverance. He was 
eminently systematic in the division and improvement of 
his time. It would not be far from the truth to say, that 
he was always in his study when his health would allow, 
and the friends of learning and religion will long have 
reason to lament, that in his feebleness, he did not give 
himself more time for relaxation. Call Avhcn you might, 
you would find him at his desk, with pen in hand, or poring 
over his text book and classics. Like Sir Isaac Newton, 
in his critical and philosophical investigations, I believe he 
was never " in a hurry.'' What he could not do to-day, he 
left for to-morrow ; and as in the instance of his Classical 
Manual, what he could not finish in one year, and do it 
well, he would apply himself to, with equal zeal and pa- 
tience, the next. This was one of the great secrets of his 
success. It was in this way, that when he died, he had so 
far outstripped most of his contemporaries, and was fast 
becoming one of the ripest scholars in New England — a 



84 MEMOIR. 

distinction which his great modesty would never have al- 
lowed him to dream of. 

PROFESSOR FISKE AS A CLASSICAL TEACHER, AND 
COLLEGE OFFICER. 

Here he had but few if any superiors. Though no 
man can teach what he is ignorant of himself, it does 
not follow of course, that the best scholars will always 
make the best instructors. This requires something more 
than the mastery of Homer, Plato and Demosthenes ; 
of logic and metaphysics ; of the exact and natural sci- 
ences. A man might know all the College text books by 
heart, and deliver courses of the most splendid lectures, and 
yet fail exceedingly in the recitation room. A teacher must 
have a certain tact, which some great scholars do not pos- 
sess. He must not only be able to express his own ideas 
clearly, but know by a sort of intuition, how to put himself 
in communication with the minds of his pupils. He must 
remember how it was with himself in the same early stages 
of education ; what difficulty he met with, what help he 
needed ; and must be able to come down from the heights 
which he had been toiling up for years, to the level of com- 
mon minds in their elementary studies. It is moreover es- 
sential, that he should love the employment of teaching; that 
he should possess a kind of enthusiasm in his department 
and be able to infuse it into his classes. He must be pa- 
tient, too, as well as accurate and earnest. He must always 
be accessable to his pupils both in and out of the recitation 
room, and take pleasure in resolving their difficulties. 

How far Professor Fiske answered to this description of a 
good teacher, hundreds can testify. Far as he was in ad- 
vance of them, he could, with the greatest ease, put himself 
in their situation, as a learner, and adapt his instructions to 



MEMOIR. 85 

their capacities. It was no stoop in him to become their 
companion in studying the lesson. It is true, his standard 
of recitation was high. He was particular — too particular^ 
some thought, who love to smoke after breakfast, and go to 
sleep in the Greek room. He required accuracy more than 
volubility in the recitations. The duty of a teacher, in his 
estimation, was not to get the scholar's lesson for him, any 
more than to eat his dinner for him, and for the same reason. 
He never put leading questions, in order to hurry through 
a lesson, or to help an idler over a difficulty. He aimed to 
make every recitation an exercise of mental discipline, as 
well as of gaining knowledge, and often the former more 
than the latter. Woe to the witless shirk who came in un- 
prepared and attempted to put the Professor off with extem- 
porizing, ever so fluently, over the text book. He was sure 
the next moment to be hopelessly set among the Greek 
roots, or to be brought up, staring at vacuity, by some 
simple question in philosophy, which a child might answer. 

I know that his rigid drilling was not seldom complained 
of by those who indulged in loose habits of study ; and even 
some respectable scholars may have thought, at the time, 
that he turned the screws rather too hard ; but I have heard 
many of the graduates, who sweat profusely under the pro- 
cess, express their obligations to Professor Fiske, for his 
high and minute requisitions : nor do I believe there is a 
respectable man among them all, who in looking back, regrets 
that it was his fortune while in College, to fall into the hands, 
of such an instructor. 

One of his early pupils, now a distinguished Professor 
himself, touching on this point, says : " Professor Fiske's 
value as a teacher was by no means limited to the particular 
sphere in which he taught. His method of instruction was 
rigid, beyond that of most men whom I have known ; and 
was eminently suited to exercise and strengthen the powers 

a* 



86 MEMOIR. 

of tte mind in general. He was himself an example of 
high mental discipline." 

Another graduate of the College, now a learned Professor 
also, says : " Professor Fiske was remarkable for quickness 
of perception. The motions of his mind, thought, feeling 
and imagination were very rapid. This was apparent in 
the instantaneousness with which he could solve a difficulty 
in the classics, or with which the objections to a proposed 
solution would occur to him." If Professor Fiske has left 
behind him more able or faithful teachers than he was, in 
any of our Colleges, where are they ? 

But there are other and far more trying duties than those 
of instruction, devolving upon a College officer. If he had 
nothing else to do but to prepare lectures and hear daiiy re- 
citations, arduous as such labors are, it would be delightful. 
To a true scholar, no profession or employment could be 
more so. But in every public institution, there must be 
government as well as instruction; and though it should 
always be paternal, still it must be something more than 
moral suasion. It must be a government of law, and a law 
is armed with penalties, (else it is mere advice) ; and un- 
happily these penalties must sometimes be executed, fall on 
whom they will. The Faculty are of necessity made the 
judicial and executive officers. How difficult and trying 
these governmental duties are ; what wisdom and patience 
they require, none but those who have been called to the 
trial can tell. Cases will arise, in which human wisdom is 
scarcely adequate to decide what ought to be done, and in 
which, do what they will, the Faculty are sure to be blamed, 
either for being too strict or too lax ; for going too far, or 
not far enough. Or "what is more common, perhaps, some 
in the same case o'' discipline, will I lame them for going to 
one extreme and some to the other. And it not unfre- 
quently happens, that the penalties of the law fall upon the 



MEMOIR* 87 

sons of the most liberal patrons of the College and the per- 
sonal friends of the Faculty. What a struggle it costs to 
do one's duty in such cases, it is easier to imagine than to 
describe. 

As one of the executive officers of this College, for more 
than twenty years, Professor Fiske met these trying respon- 
sibilities with a firm and consistent spirit. No member of 
the Faculty felt more reluctant than he did to inflict College 
censures and punishments ; but all his associates will testify, 
that he never flinched in the trying moment, but always 
sustained the majority, let the consequences to himself of 
discharging the duty be what they might. However he 
might differ from some of us in opinion, he was always ready 
to take his full share of the responsibility. In one word, he 
was an able, vigilant, trustworthy and self-sacrificing College 
officer, as well as an admirable teacher. 

PROFESSOR FISKE AS A PREACHER. 

What were his original preferences I do not know ; but 
there is reason to think that his heart was drawn toward the 
gospel ministry, from the time of his great spiritual change 
in Dartmouth College. With this view he entered the 
Theological Seminary at Andover, as soon after his gradua- 
tion as circumstances would permit, and spent three years 
there in laborious preparation for the sacred office. As he 
was never a settled pastor, and had been preaching scarcely 
a year when the accsptance of a professorship in Amherst 
College turned his thoughts and studies into a new channel, it 
could not be expected that he would attain to that eminence 
as a preacher, which, with his talents and industry, he might 
have done, had he devoted his life to the sacred profession. 
And but for the arrangement which devolved upon him 
the duty of taking his turn with the president and the other 
professors, in supplying the chapel pulpit on the Sabbath, 



88 MEMOIR. 

he probably would have written but few discourses, if any ; 
and would have preached but little, after he took the pro- 
fessional chair. Happily that arrangement brought him 
out, though not so often as we wished, and I have no hesita- 
tion in saying, that he has left behind him, some of the 
richest, clearest, most instructive and pungent sermons that 
I have ever heard. Highly eulogistic and even extrava- 
gant as this may appear, to those who never heard the 
ablest of them, I believe it accords with the judgment of 
both officers and students in College ; and when the selec- 
tion in this volume comes to be read, I feel confident that 
the verdict of the most intelligent Christian readers will 
sustain that judgment. 

In the common acceptation of the term. Professor Fiske 
was not an eloquent preacher. His voice was small and 
his utterance, when he began, and till he was roused, rather 
laborious. It wanted that fullness and flexibility and 
strength, which habitual speaking, before a large audience, 
would have given it. Still at times he was exceedingly ani- 
mated and even eloquent, and more and more so in the last 
years of his life. He rarely went abroad to preach, and 
when he did, his want of practice, and his low appreciation 
of his performances, deprived him of the advantages which 
a loud and musical voice, and a more imposing personal ap- 
pearance would have given him ; insomuch, that while th§ 
few in every congregation admired him, out of the Chap- 
el, and out of the village church in Amherst, where he 
often preached, he was not a very popular preacher. But 
such discourses as he often gave us, so perspicuous, so neat 
and classical in style, so clear and logical in arrangement, 
so full of thought, so conclusive, so direct, so harrowing to the 
conscience, but few men can write, who have devoted their 
whole lives to preaching. It might be objected, that some of 
his discourses were too metaphysical and scholastic for a 



MEMOIR. 89 

common audience ; and doubtless had lie been a pastor, 
they would have been considerably modified in this respect. 
But though logical they were always clear — I may add, 
were clear because so logical and analytical- Though some- 
times profound they were never obscure. However deep 
the waters, the pebbles might always be seen at the bottom. 
Having clear and definite ideas himself, Professor Fiske 
knew how to put them into such intelligible language, that 
every attentive hearer, of ordinary capacity, could under- 
stand him. His style is a model of pulpit elegance, purity, 
conciseness and perspicuity. Hardly ever a word is want- 
ing, or superfluous ; and rarely will you find a collocation 
that could be chano;ed for the better. 

But it is time for me to pause, and let others who knew 
him well, and heard him often, speak. Says a friend, who 
was colleague professor with him for many years, " Of all 
the men I have ever known in the pulpit, I have never 
know^n Professor Fiske's superior, in commending the truth 
to every man's conscience. There was such a goodness 
blended with the severity of his arguments and appeals, 
that it was indeed only a hard and impenitent heart that 
could ' resist the wisdom and the spirit by which he spake.' " 

Says one of the early graduates and tutors of the Col- 
lege : " Professor Fiske loved the truth and was tenacious 
of it, and was earnest for its reception into the hearts of 
his hearers ; and his countenance, gestures and whole man- 
ner, bespoke his purpose to cling to the truth, and to hold it 
up, and hold it forth, and present it, and urge it for the 
good of his audience, even though their good must be se- 
cured by some degree of present discomfort. I well remem- 
ber some of his searching, pointed, close, pungent discourses, 
and never think of him in the pulpit other than an able, but 
by all means a faithful preacher. His preaching was 
characterized by intellectual eloquence, though the populace 



90 MEMOIR. 

would not regard him as in tlieir sense, an eloquent man. 
He was too precise, too argumentative, too noiseless to 
attract the gaze of superficial hearers." 

Says another early graduate, now a distinguished Biblical 
Professor : "As a preacher, Professor Fiske, so far as he 
was known, held a high rank. His discourses, as vivid, 
strong, pointed demonstrations of divine truth, were cer- 
tainly, as I now remember them, among the most impressive 
that I ever heard. On my return to College as a tutor, 
when perhaps I was better able to appreciate such perform- 
ances, I was even more struck with this character of them, 
than I had been as a student. I can now recollect, with 
great distinctness, extended trains of thought, which his 
powerful mode of exhibiting the doctrines of the gospel, 
fastened at that time on my memory. He wanted, in my 
opinion, only some of the embellishments of a speaker, to 
have made him one of the most effective preachers that we 
have had in this country." 

PROFESSOR FISKE IN HIS FAMILY. 

In obituary notices, nothing is more common place, than 
to say of a deceased husband and father, that he discharged 
all the duties of these endearing relations, with the tender- 
est fidelity. It were easy in the present case, to take fresh 
impressions from the stereotype, which throws off so many 
hundred copies every month. But I have only to say, that 
the truest domestic love is the least ostentatious ; and that 
to form a just idea of the vestal warmth that glowed in Pro- 
fessor Fiske's bosom and irradiated his house, you must 
have known what he was to his wife, whose " price was 
above rubies," in all the years of her feebleness and suffer- 
ing — must have heard the testimony which, though unnec- 
essary, she could not suppress upon her death bed, and 



MEMOIR. 91 

must have known, what his orphan children knew, of his 
paternal watchfulness over them from the cradle, and of his 
fidelity in " bringing them up in the nurture and admonition 
of the Lord." 

AS A TRIEND, 

Professor Fiske needs no encomium here, nor upon his 
tomb-stone. The record is indelibly engraved upon our 
hearts. He was sparing of professions — no man more so. 
Strong and true as his attachments were, he never express- 
ed all that he felt, nor half that he felt. His extreme deli- 
cacy would not allow him to do it. But when once he had 
given you his heart, he never wavered a hair. He never 
stopped to inquire how it would affect his interests or popu- 
larity. You always knew where to find him, let the wind 
blow from what quarter it might. You felt perfectly sure 
that he would stand by you "through evil report as well as 
good report," so long as you continued to deserve his confi- 
dence ; and you were not disappointed. I 'nothing doubt, 
that Solomon had just such a man in view when he said, 
"there is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother." 

"With this agrees the testimony of a former distinguished 
colleague professor, from whose letters I have already given 
a brief extract. After remarking, that Professor Fiske had 
great accuracy of judgment, and uncommon perseverance 
in examining the more recondite portions of a subject, and 
prying into the most minute distinctions, he adds, "I was 
however more favorably impressed by the rare fidelity of his 
friendship than by the marked acumen and penetration of his 
mind. I never knew him to hesitate or waver, in defence 
of one whom he esteemed, whatever odium he might incur. 
He did not sacrifice his friends to his own popularity, but 
aided them at the expense of his own, in the time of their 



92 MEMOIR. 

necessities. He manifested his regard for tliem, first and 
chiefly, when they needed such a manifestation. There are 
many little incidents which I can recall, of his faithfulness 
and constancy in friendship, which present his character in 
a very amiable point of view. This fidelity in friendship 
characterized Professor Fiske in his whole official and relig- 
ious character. What he loved, he loved earnestly." 
It only remains that I speak of professor Fiske, as 

A HUMBLE, SINCERE AND CONSISTENT CHKISTIAN. 

This I have reserved for the last topic, because it abundant- 
ly appears in the extracts which I have given from his jour- 
nal, and as his whole life testified, this was the crowning ex- 
cellence of his character. 

Kichly endowed as he was by nature ; eminent as a schol- 
ar, and unsurpassed as a teacher ; able, searching and effec- 
tive as were his discourses in the pulpit ; true and tender as 
lie was in his domestic relations ; sincere and unwavering 
as were his friendships ; what a sadness would oppress our 
hearts, if he had left behind him no satisfactory evidence 
that he was the friend of God. But aside from the fruits of 
piety, which were ever ripening in the sunshine of his 
Christian life, I might have quoted innumerable passages, 
almost, from the private journal which he kept for more 
than thirty years after the first dawn of his hope in Christ ; 
which are instinct with the breathings of "a humble and con- 
trite heart, that in the sight of God are of great price." 
But while all who had the best means of judging, had great 
confidence in the genuineness and depth of his piety, Pro- 
fessor Fiske was one of the most self-distrustful Christians, 
I ever knew. This arose partly from the demonstrative 
structure of his mind, which rendered it impossible for him 
to rest satisfied without the clearest evidence ; and still 
more, from the depth and thoroughness of what the old 



MEMOIR. 93 

divines called " a law work " upon his mind, at the time of 
his conversion. He saw that he was indeed, in " the horri- 
ble pit and the miry clay." He had such clear and over- 
whelming views of the desperate depravity of his own 
heart ; of his helplessness as a lost sinner ; of the holiness 
of God ; of the purity and strictness of his law, and of his 
own just exposure to its awful penalty, that the remem- 
brance of it ever after made him tremble, lest his hope of 
forgiveness should provfe at last to be a false hope. As the 
light of truth and of holiness shone more and more clearly 
into his heart ; it revealed to him, as divine truth always 
does and must do, more and more of the " deceltfulness 
and exceeding sinfulness of sin." It was this which made 
Professor Fiske jealous over himself with such a " godly 
jealousy ;" and how much safer are those doubts and fears 
which arise from deep searchings of heart, than that pre- 
sumptuous confidence, which springs from superficial views 
of true religion. 

I have no room left to show, as I might, by much larger 
quotations from Professor Fiske's journal, both before and 
after he embarked on his foreign tour, that he was manifest- 
ly ripening for heaven, while he thought and spoke of him- 
self as the " least of all saints." And indeed, if I had the 
most ample space, without crowding out more important 
matter with which his manuscripts so richly abound, what 
more need we add to show, that judging by our Savior's 
rule, " By their fruits ye shall know them," he was, as I 
have said, a humhle and sincere christian; and what better 
evidence could his friends desire, that his soul has been 
gathered with the saints in glory, as his body rests with 
their sacred dust on ]\Iount Zion, than they derive from his 
consistent and devoted life, from the record of his Christian 
experience, which evidently was intended for no eye but his 
own, and from the breathings of holy resignation and hum- 

9 



94: MEMOIR. 

ble confidence in the Redeemer, on his death bed ? " Here 
is the patience of the saints ; here are they that keep the 
commandments of God, in the faith of Jesus. And I heard 
a voice from heaven saying unto me, Write blessed are the 
dead who die in the Lord, from henceforth, yea saith the 
Spirit, that they may rest from their labors, and their works 
do follow them." 

May the compiler of this volume, as he here closes the 
Memoir of his departed friend, subjoin two or three para- 
graphs from his address to the students in Amherst College, 
which was delivered at the request of the Trustees, some 
time after the afflictive intelligence of Professor Fiske's 
death reached this country. 

*' I cannot close this imperfect memorial, without one word 
to the students of this College, in which Professor Fiske so 
long taught, and which his talents, piety and scholarship so 
much adorned. Here, my young friends, is a model of in- 
dustry, order, thoroughness, humble piety, high attainments 
and eminent usefulness for your imitation. "Without a 
sound and discriminating mind, indeed, he could not have 
mastered so many studies ; but it was patient thinking, 
untiring investigation, rigid mental discipline in the study 
of the classics and the sciences, and the prompt and consci- 
entious discharge of all his duties, rather than any extraor- 
dinary natural gifts, that made him so ripe a scholar, so 
eminent a preacher, and so thorough an instructor. And 
why should you not aspire after equally rich and useful at- 
tainments ? Why, if you have not already done it, why 
not "give yourselves first to the Lord," and then to the 
cause of learning and religion, as your loved and admired 
Professor did ? You have at least as good literary advan- 
tages here, as he enjoyed, in the respectable College where 
he was educated. Do any of you say, that with every pos- 
sible effort, you can never rise so high, nor teach so ably as 



MEMOIR. dh 

he did ? How do you know ? It is rare, that an under- 
graduate gains such a perfect knowledge of his own pow- 
ers, as to know what attainments he can make, or to what 
extent he can bless his generation, and those who shall 
come after him. Professor Fiske would have told you, if 
his modesty had not forbidden it, that when he was in Col- 
lege, he had no expectation of ever making himself, what 
we know he was ; and this I have no doubt has been true 
of the majority of the most distinguished and useful men, 
every where. At your age, Newton never dreamed that he 
should solve the mighty problem of celestial attraction, 
and explain the harmony of the spheres, nor Jonathan Ed- 
wards, that he should be enthroned, a century after his 
death) the acknowledged prince of metaphysicians. No 
man can tell what or how much he can do, till he has tried, 
and tried a great while — tried to the full extent of his abil- 
ities and opportunities. Judging from all past observation, 
it is not the most gifted of your number, who will, as a mat- 
ter of course, make your mark highest, and do the most 
good in the world, but it is those who make the best use of 
their time and privileges here, and who shall most assidu- 
ously build upon these foundations hereafter. 

Remember, my young friends, that as the learned and 
the good are passing off from the stage, and you are com- 
ing on, high and solemn responsibilities await you. You 
may try to shun them, but they will come. When they 
come, you may, by your own fault, be so weak, so unpre- 
pared to meet them that they will crush you ; but you can- 
not ward them off. And why should not each and all of 
you " do what you find to do with your might ?" Former 
generations have studied and labored and prayed for you, 
as well as for themselves ; and why should not you confer 
still richer blessings, impossible, upon your own and upon 
future times ? For what purpose are you enjoying t he 



96 MEMOIR. 

highest literary and religious privileges, but that you may 
stand in your lot, and guide and teach the young, and preach 
the gospel, and help to make and administer good laws, and 
to sustain all the wise and glorious institutions under which 
we live, like the educated men who have gone before you ? 
Your learned and indefatigable Professor, whose life and 
character I have so imperfectly sketched, has left you, and 
gone to the city of David, and you cannot call him back. 
But you can do as he did — " Hemember your Creator in 
the days of your youth." You can, by divine assistance, 
prepare yourselves, as he did, to serve God and your gen- 
eration ; and die at last in the faith w^hich opened the gates 
of the heavenly Jerusalem to him, as he was leaving the 
desolations of the earthly, and washed in redeeming blood 
you can rise with him in the resurrection, to " glory and 
honor and immortality." 



SELECTED SERMONS 



O F 



PROFESSOR FISKE 



SERMON I. 
SPIRITUAL LIBERTY. 



Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is Liberty. But 

WE ALL with open FACE, BEHOLDING AS IN A GLASS THE GLORY 

OF THE Lord, are changed into the same image from 

GLORY TO GLORY, EVEN AS BY THE SPIRIT OF THE LORD. 

2 Coiinthians iii, 17, 18. 

This passage, so striking for its beauty, is also crowded 
full of thought. Its significance may be drawn out in more 
distinct propositions, by the following paraphrase. 

" The most perfect spiritual or moral freedom possible 
exists in God. Some degree of this freedom or liberty 
exists in every Christian, because the influence of the Holy 
Spirit has produced in his soul some moral resemblance to 
God. The spiritual freedom of the Christian becomes 
greater and greater in proportion to the increase of this 
resemblance ; and when the resemblance becomes complete, 
then the freedom will be perfect. Under the sanctifying 
agency of the Spirit, all believers are changed into the 
same image, the image of God ' in righteousness and tru6 



98 SPIRITUAL LIBERTY. 

iioliness ; ' it is an image of resplendent spiritual beauty 
or glory ; and every advance they make in the progress of 
the change, is a step from one degree of this beauty or 
glory, to a beauty and glory still more resplendent*" 

But what is the nature of this spiritual or moral freedom ? 

It is my purpose to offer in answer to this question seve- 
ral remarks, growing out of the text, exhibiting some essen- 
tial elements and traits of the true moral freedom of the 
human soul. 

First. The true moral or spiritual freedom is something 
totally distinct from liberty of outward action. 

The text evidently represents it, as an attribute of the soul 
appropriately. And the most perfect liberty to do in out- 
ward action, what the soul wills to do, may exist, where 
there is no true spiritual freedom at all. On the other 
hand, there may be the highest degree of spiritual freedom 
that can be attained on earth, where the body is confined in 
prison or in fetters. Thus Paul and Silas enjoyed undi- 
minished freedom of soul, when, with their feet fast in the 
stocks, their hearts prompted them to sing praises to God ; 
nor would their moral freedom have been at all abridged, 
had the Roman magistrates tied up or torn out the tongues 
of those holy men, in order to silence their midnight 
thanksgivings. 

Secondly. The true spiritual or moral freedom includes 
something, which is not found in the mind of any unre- 
newed man. It is a liberty which exists only where the 
Spirit of the Lord is. There is in it some peculiarity 
which does not belong to the soul, before that blessed agent 
creates the heart anew after the image of God. The true 
moral freedom has some trait or characteristic not shown 
by man, before that momentous change in his character and 
prospects. Any other supposition would be at variance 
with the very pith and marrow of the text. 



SPIRITUAL LIBERTY. ^ 99 

Thirdly. The true spiritual and moral freedom of man 
involves as an essential mark or trait, whatever is essential 
to the advance of a renewed soul in the progressive work 
of sanctification. This is perfectly obvious from the text : 
since the moral freedom or liberty increases, just in propor- 
tion as the work of sanctification goes on. If we can point 
out, therefore, any grand and peculiar characteristic, attend- 
ing the believer's growth in grace, we shall have therein 
what is also a grand and essential characteristic of spiritual 
or moral freedom. 

Fourthly. Psychologically, the grand and essential char- 
acteristic of the believer's growth in grace, is an ever in- 
creasing 'probability of right Trior al acts or states in his soul. 
Theoretic explanations of this fact are of little importance 
here ; perhaps none can be given ; but the fact itself is in- 
dubitable. The further any man is advanced in sanctifica- 
tion, the more nearly sure and certain is it, that all the 
moral exercises of his soul will be right. 

Not only do his holy affections and emotions rise to greater 
intensity when they are in exercise, but there is a greater 
and greater likelihood, that every object presented will call 
forth the proper emotion. On no account is the Christian 
more frequently led to " write bitter things" against himself, 
than for the irregularity of his emotions and affections. 
One hour they may kindle np in a bright and eager flame. 
Every object he contemplates serves to add fuel to the holy 
fire. While he muses, his her^rt burns within him. But 
the next hour, his soul is sunk in spiritual languor and stu- 
pidity. The objects, which had once roused his warmest 
feelings, now make comparatively little impression, or 
awaken no feeling at all, or serve only as occasions for 
some ungodly emotion. As the believer gains more of the 
image of God, there is a greater degree of exemption from 
these irregularities. The connection between the objects of 



100 SPIRITUAL LIBERTY. 

thought and right emotions, becomes more and more uni- 
form, as he advances from stage to stage in his sanctification ; 
in other words, there is a regular approximation towards a 
certainty that every object will be contemplated with appro- 
piate and right feelings. And whenever he has advanced 
to such a degree of holiness, that there is a perfect certainty 
that no object when viewed by his intellect will ever awaken 
any wrong affection or emotion in his heart, but every ob- 
ject will give rise to the right and proper feeling, then he 
has obtained in this respect a full resemblance to God. 

In like manner, as the Christian advances in sanctifica- 
tion, there is an increasing uniformity of the connection be- 
tween right motives and the choices or volitions of his will ; 
or in other words, which mean precisely the same thing, 
there is an increasing regularity and constancy of the soul's 
choosing what is right and rejecting or refusing what is 
wrono-. To suppose a Christian to be advancing in holi- 
ness, when at the same time wrong feelings and motives 
were just as likely as they ever before had been to control 
his will, would be supposing what is most obviously a pal- 
pable contradiction in terms. The common sense of men 
every where demands and expects to find, that the Chris- 
tian will be under the prevalent influence of holy motives 
exactly in the degree in which he makes progress in piety. 
The records of the Bible and Christian experience in every 
age, as attested in the pages of biography, show, that the 
fact corresponds to the expectation. ' Evil men and se- 
ducers', who plot for the downfall of Christians, understand 
this matter. They assail with their temptations, not gen- 
erally the advanced and confirmed Christian, but rather the 
young believer, the recent disciple ; and why ? Because 
they well know, that their flattering enticements, or their 
ridicule and sneers, have more power to move the will of 
tlte younger and less experienced Christian. By this in- 



SPIEITTJAL LIBERTY. 101 

creasing regularity of the control of the choice by holy mo- 
tives, the believer on earth is gradually changed into the 
imao-e of God ; and his resemblance to God in this respect 
will be complete and perfect, when he is removed from 
earth to heaven, and I suppose not until then ; when he re- 
ceives his crown and his harp in the presence of God and the 
Lamb. It then becomes sure that every choice of his soul 
will spring up in connection with a holy motive, from right 
feelings of heart. These remarks prepare us then, to state 
a grand and essential characteristic of the spiritual or moral 
freedom of the soul. Therefore, 

Fifthly. True moral freedom, we infer, implies, as an in- 
dispensable element and part of it, an established tendency in 
the soul toward the exercise of right emotions and right voli- 
tions. It implies a fixed character, disposition or adaptation 
of mind, such that all the volitions or acts of choice are 
produced by right feelings of heart as their motives, and 
none but right feelings of heart are awakened by any of 
the objects contemplated by the intellect. 

Such is the perfect moral freedom of the Infinite mind : 
there is an eternal, unalterable certainty that every object 
will be viewed by God with perfectly holy emotions, no ob- 
ject can awaken any other emotions ; and every choice or 
decision of the divine mind is made for perfectly wise and 
good reasons, or in other words, from right and holy feeling? 
as the motives. 

Thus, in the development of our text, we find, it presents 
to us most beautifully the origin, the progress, and the per- 
fection of moral freedom or spiritual liberty in the soul of 
man. That freedom or liberty demands the establishment, 
in the tendencies of the soul, of a proper connection be- 
tween the acts of the intellect and those of the heart and 
the will. The freedom commences, when the soul is first 
renewed by the Holy Spirit; then the will first begins to be 



102 SPIRITUAL LIBERTY. 

controlled by right feelings — then right feelings first begin 
to rise in the heart in view of objects contemplated by the 
intellect. The freedom advances and increases as the soul 
advances in sanctification, and the connection between the 
volitions of the soul and right feelings and motives as their 
cause, becomes more nearly fixed and certain. The freedom 
is perfect and entire, when the soul is wholly sanctified, and 
carried up to the moral image of God, and there is a com- 
plete certainty and fixedness in the connection by which 
every object of thought is sure to awaken a suitable feeling 
in the heart, and the proper motive is sure to control the 
choice of the will. 

This subject suggests several useful reflections. 

First, we see that true moral freedom is essentially freedom 
from sin. The soul is sinful just in proportion as there is in 
its exercises any connection between the objects contemplated 
by it, and wrong emotions or affections awakened by them, 
and between its acts of choice and wrong motives produ- 
cing them. This connection is partially severed by the re- 
newing power of the Holy Spirit, and thus is commenced a 
gradual emancipation of the soul ; the dominion of sin is 
broken, it no longer holds an uninterrupted sway ; right 
affections now are sometimes awakened — volitions and 
choices now sometimes follow proper motives ; some degree 
of freedom from sin is effected. And as the moral freedom 
increases with advancing sanctification, it is essentially an 
increasing freedom from sin. The bond, the thraldom 
which is thus more and more weakened as the work of grace 
goes on, is the bondage of sin, that bondage by which the 
w^hole mind is held under the control of a wicked heart ; so 
that the thoughts of the intellect do but awaken unholy af- 
fections, and unholy affections ever move the wilL " Where 
the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty." The Spirit de- 
livers from the power of sin, and this deliverance is liberty ; 



SPIRITTJAL LIBERTY. 103 

it is what tlie Bible styles freedom by way of preeminence. 
" If the Son make you free, you shall be free indeed ;" free 
indeed, free preeminently. He is a freeman, whom the 
truth makes free. The first beginning of moral or spiritual 
freedom is the beginning of a deliverance from sin, and the 
completion of that freedom is the complete and everlasting 
deliverance from sin. 

Secondly^ we see why the true and perfect freedom of the 
soul is the most valuable possession. 

It is synonymous with — rather it is identical with actual 
and unchanofino; rectitude. 

Freedom from physical restraint or force, or from civil op- 
pression, is a rich and valued blessing. Freedom from pain, 
suffering and care, from poverty, sorrow and fear, is highly 
prized by all. But let the largest possible measures of such 
freedom be obtained, and how low does it sink, how trivial 
and insignificant does it appear, when compared with this 
real freedom of the soid, which will be perfect when the soul 
is fixed for eternity, amid the glories and joys of heaven ! 

There are two things worthy of note in marking the super- 
lative value of this freedom. The first is, that the free- 
dom, when completed, involves in itself the perfect purity 
and rectitude of the soul ; — the second is, that when com- 
pleted, it also involves a certainty that this purity and recti- 
tude will be perpetual — a certainty that they shall never be 
lost or impaired, but every choice of the will, every affection 
and emotion of the heart, right forever ! The holy harmony 
of the soul's movements forever sustained without a shock, 
a discord, or the slightest jar ! Such is that liberty, which 
is found, in its beginnings at least, in every soul, where the 
Spirit of the Lord dwells. 

Thirdly, we see that true moral freedom is not freedom 
from the operation of fixed laws. In the perfect moral free- 
dom of the infinite mind, there is an immutable connection 



104 SPIEITUAL LIBERTY, 

between volition and motive, between emotion and intelli- 
gence — every object viewed by the Omniscient intellect 
awakens infallibly the very emotion or feeling of heart 
which it ought to awaken, and no other — and every volition 
or purpose of the Almighty will is joined infallibly to a 
holy reason or motive ; here is the invariable operation of 
fixed law; antecedent and consequent are unaltervably con- 
joined ; in the whole compass of the sciences, in the whole 
sweep of human knowledge, no instance can be found, 
where the law is so fixed — where the connection between 
antecedent and consequent is so certain. The moral free- 
dom of the human soul approximates to being perfect, just 
in proportion as it approximates to a full resemblance to the 
moral freedom of the divine mind ; that is, of course, just 
in proportion as the soul is brought more and more com- 
pletely under the same fixed law, and the same certain con- 
nection between antecedent and consequent — that heavenly 
bond which binds every choice of the will to right feelings 
or desires in the heart, and binds a right feeling and emo- 
tion of tl\e heart to every object viewed by the intellect. 

So utterly false is that notion of moral freedom, which is 
urged by Pelagians, Arminians, Wesleyans, and other 
errori-sts in religion ; who adopt the fancy, that moral free- 
dom implies freedom from the uniform operation of fixed 
laws. There is not time, if this w^ere the place, to speak of 
the impossibilities and absurdities involved in that notion. 
But some things, showing its entire contrariety to the teach- 
ings of the Bible, are here both pertinent and important. 

A freedom such as to exclude the law of connection be- 
tween thoughts of the intellect and feelings of the heart, 
and between feelings of the heart and purposes of the will, 
supposing such a freedom possible in a moral agent, and 
supposing there could be any sin where the feelings of the 
heart were not awakened by the man's own thoughts, or 



SPIRITUAL LIBERTY. 105 

where the choices of the will were not produced from the 
man's own heart, — supposing such freedom to be a possible 
thing and to be consistent with guilt or blame, — then such a 
freedom could never afford the slightest security against sin ; 
and any increase or augmentation of such a freedom, if any 
increase of it were possible, would bring no additional deliv- 
erance from sin ; and this view alone is sufficient to demon- 
strate, ihat any such freedom is not the true moral freedom 
of the soul as taught in the Bible ; for the least degree of 
that true moral freedom does afford some security against 
sin, and every increase of it brings both additional deliver- 
ance and augmented security. That the freedom thus imag- 
ined would afford no security against sin is manifest. It 
contains none in itself, for by the supposition there is no 
uniform law; the soul, one moment immaculate and holy as 
the angels of light, would be just as likely to have, the next 
moment, the vilest affections and choices, as to have the op- 
posite, since there is no law of uniformity. And such a 
freedom allows no safety to be acquired ; the actual prac- 
tice of virtue for ages would add nothing to the safety, ex- 
cept just in the degree in which the supposed freedom 
should be impaired ; for if that long practice might occa- 
sion any greater tendency than at first existed, just so far 
there would be a law in operation ; and just so far, there- 
fore, the freedom would be gone. A soul possessing such a 
freedom could not, therefore, avail itself in the slightest de- 
gree of the aid of habit, except by surrendering in the 
same degree that freedom. Nor could such a soul receive 
the aid of the Holy Spirit in a single instance, without 
making the same sacrifice. Now the freedom, thus im- 
agined, cannot be the liberty, which exists, where the Spirit 
of the Lord is. Not only so, such a freedom is utterly in- 
consistent with that liberty ; for the sanctifying influence of 
the Holy Spirit tends to increase the moral freedom of the 

10 



106 SPIRITUAL LIBERTY. 

soul, instead of destroying it ; and the practice of virtue 
and holiness tends also to increase it. And the freedom, 
thus imagined, is not that for which the Christian prays, 
when he beseeches God to make him a freeman in Christ. 
So little does he desire any such freedom as a freedom from 
the operation of fixed law, that such a freedom is the very 
thing AGAINST ivhich he prays ; he pleads with God for 
Christ's sake, to send the Holy Ghost and bring his heart 
and his will into a perfect obedience, that is, to connect his 
choice with the right object of choice with a full certainty. 
So earnestly bent is the fervent Christian to secure this cer- 
tainty, this uniform operation of fixed law, that he entreats 
God to exert his Almighty Power and thereby hold him 
hound to the love of what is good, and hound to the choice 
of what is right. Such is the beautiful prayer in the sev- 
enth stanza of Wordsworth's Ode to Duty — a stanza quoted 
by Coleridge with high approbation : 

" I myself commend 

Unto thy guidance from this hoiir 5 

Oh, let my weakness have an end ; 

Give unto me, made lowly wise 

The spirit of self sacrifice; 

The confidence of reason give ; 

And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live." 

How perfectly natural to the Christian heart is this pray- 
er for an entire subjection of the soul to reason and truth ! 
And when the Christian has wandered from his Eedeemer, 
and fallen into sin, how readily does he exclaim, 

" Wretch that I am, to wander thug, 
In chase of false delight — 
Let me he. fastened to thy cross, 
Nor ever lose the sight." 

How often too, when a sense of Christ's dying love con- 



SPIRITUAL LIBERTY. 107 

strains him to holy efforts, how often does he devoutly say, 

" Till life's latest hour I'll bow, 
And bless in death a bond so dear." 

Fourthly. We see that true moral freedom is not at all 
infringed by that certainty in the order of events, which is 
called moral necessity. The most perfect moral freedom 
exists in the divine mind; no higher or more complete or 
more desirable moral agency can be possessed than God 
possesses, and yet there reigns an eternal and unalterable 
certainty that every object viewed by Him shall be connect- 
ed with perfectly holy emotions, and that every choice or 
purpose formed by Him shall be the result of perfectly holy 
motives. As there is no appropriate language strong enough 
to express fully the absoluteness of this certainty, the term 
necessity has been applied to it ; and we often say every feel- 
ing of the divine mind must he right; a choice or purpose of 
God cannot he without a good and wise reason ; and this, we 
often say also, is from the necessity of his nature ; which is 
only saying and saying truly, that the perfect moral freedom 
of God is an eternal and immutable moral necessity. The 
necessity which exists, therefore, does not infringe the free- 
dom, not only so, the necessity is essential both to the per- 
fection and to the preservation of that freedom. 

So in the character of Christ, that only man who knew no 
sin, there was perfect moral freedom ; but what a fixed 
and unfailing certainty was there in that character, so 
that the heart was sure to yield at once the proper 
emotion towards every object presented to view, and the 
will was sure to make at once the choice demanded by a 
right motive. So unchangeable was this certainty, that Sa- 
tan, that old tempter and artful seducer, assailed in vain the 
man Christ Jesus ; he could find nothing to work upon in 
that sinless man. Christ possessed a freedom, the adversary 



108 SPIRITUAL LIBERTY. 

could not destroy or diminish. There was a high moral ne- 
cessity which hindered Jesus from ever choosing wrong or 
feeling wrong ; and that necessity, so far from interfering 
with his moral freedom, was its essential characteristic and 
its invincible safeguard. 

So also in the redeemed saint in Heaven ; how safely 
and certainly is he confirmed in his holiness and happiness 
forever ; a certainty as fixed as the promise and purpose 
of the Almighty, that the whole series of successive thoughts, 
feelings and choices in the mind of that saint will forever be 
right. No influence can awaken a wrong thought - — no 
thought can produce a wrong feeling ; an abiding moral ne- 
cessity reigns there with a supremacy, which could not be 
overcome, should all the legions of Hell force an entrance 
into Heaven and join in one terrible onset upon that glorifi- 
ed spirit. Thus again it is manifest, that the moral neces- 
sity does not at all impair the freedom, but secures and per- 
petuates it. 

So likewise in the devoted saint on earth, there is a ten- 
dency to a perfect certainty that all his mental acts and feel- 
ings will be just such as they ought to be. There is therefore 
a degree of moral necessity, and this degree is becoming 
continually stronger and stronger, and yet his moral free- 
dom is at the same time, and m the same degree growing 
more and more full. Thus obvious here also is it,that the mor- 
al necessity does not infringe upon his freedom, but that the 
necessity is in fact a concomitant and an essential element 
of that freedom. 

And it is important to observe that, while in all these 
cases the necessity does not impair the moral freetlom, neith- 
er does it diminish the moral beauty and worth of the char- 
acter. The character of God is not less lovely and glorious 
and -adorable, because there is an infallible and eternal cer- 
tainty, that is, an infinite moral necessity of its continuing to 



SPIRITUAL LIBERTY. 109 

be just such a character as it is. God cannot lie ; an immu- 
table necessity involved in his essential goodness hinders it. 
If there were no such necessity, if God could utter false- 
hood, would his character be more lovely and praiseworthy ? 
Eemove that moral necessity ; let God's character become 
such that it would be possible for him to lie, and would he 
not thereby be stripped at once of his peculiar glory ? 

So with the Christian far advanced in sanctitlcation and 
preparation for heaven, there is a moral necessity M'hich 
binds him to the love of truth and the practice of duty with 
almost unerring certainty, a necessity which makes him ex- 
claim whenever tempted to sin, "how can I do this thing 
and sin against God:" but here the necessity, so far from de- 
tracting from his excellence and praise-worthiness is evi- 
dence of higher excellence and greater praise-worthiness 
than would otherwise be shown. The necessity is in fact 
the result of the excellence in such a sense that if the neces- 
sity were less it would prove the moral excellence of the 
character to be less. Who is the purest and best man, he 
whose mental habits are such that he is just as likely as not 
to have and cherish polluting desires, or the man whose 
mental habits are such that he cannot harbor for a moment 
an unclean thought ? 

And as no degree of moral necessity can diminish aught 
from the meritoriousness of right actions and feelings, so no 
degree of such necessity can ever take away aught from the 
guiltiness of wrong ones. 

Fifthly. We see that the special influence of the Holy 
Spirit is a precious favor to man. 

Until that influence rests upon the mind, there is no free- 
dom from sin ; it is only where the Spirit of the Lord is, that 
there is any degree of the true and proper liberty of the 
soul. This liberty implies, as we have seen, an adjusted 

harmony of separate or distinct operations or movements of 

10* 



110 SPmiTUAL LIBERTY. 

the soul all fitly and rightly adapted to each other. Such is 
the harmony of the infinite mind, all the attributes being 
blended in their exercise in happy unison, — eternally secure 
from all cause of discord or interruption, — knowledge,wisdom 
and holy benevolence, ever acting in sweet concert. How 
beautiful, how perfect, how glorious that harmony., 

Similar to it is the harmony existing in the angelic mind. 
Every movement or act succeeds its predecessor or coexists 
with its concomitant, in perfect agreement with fixed law, 
and in entire accordance with virtue and holiness, not a sin- 
ful choice or a wrong emotion ever rising to produce a jar, 
not one note of discord in the heavenly music of the angelic 
mind. 

Like to this was the harmony once existing in the human 
soul. God made Adam in his own image. The mind of 
man, as thus created, was " fearfully and wonderfully made," 
— of surpassing workmanship — with its elements combined 
and adjusted in regular and beautiful adaptation, and form- 
ing as it were a most delicate and admirable machinery, 
sense and intellect and heart and will all fitted to work to- 
gether in due relations and proportions, and in ihus working 
to serve and enjoy and glorify the great Creator. And how 
harmonionsly did it work, until the eating of that forbidden 
fruit ! Alas, what a blow then was given to this fair in- 
strument ! what confusion and disorder follov/ed in all its 
workings ! what a fearful derangement has there been in its 
movements from the apostacy to the present hour ! Philos- 
ophers in all ages have puzzled themselves to tell what is 
the difficulty ; and yet the difiiculty is a single one, and lies 
wholly in a single pa,rt of the machinery. 

"A watch-maker told me," says Mr. Cecil, "that a gen- 
tleman once put into his hands an exquisite watch, that went 
irregularly. It was as perfect a piece of work as was ever 
made. He took it to pieces and put it together again twen- 



SPIRITUAL LIBERTY. Ill 

ij times. No manner of defect was to be discovered, and 
yet the watch went intolerably. At last it struck him, that 
possibly the balance-wheel might have been placed near a 
magnet. On applying a needle to it, he found his suspicion 
true. On his putting in a new wheel, the steel-work in the 
other parts and the whole machinery of the watch went as 
well possible." 

Thus it is with the mind of man. The balance-wheel has 
been magnetized; the heart is poisoned by sin ; and all the 
beautifully constructed machinery has been working irregu- 
larly ever since that malignant influence first touched it. 
Now what is the only remedy ? The balance-wheel must 
be w?z-magnetized ; stripped of that fatal power it has in it to 
disturb the movements of the other parts ; the heart must 
be freed from the virus of sin ; then the whole machinery 
will be freed from disorder, the whole mind will be restored 
to its original harmony, to its true spiritual liberty. And 
by what agency can this be effected, this purification, this 
re-formation — this un-magnetizing of the balance-wheel, 
this renewing of the heart ? The experience of the world 
for six thousand years attests the doctrine of the Bible, which 
assures us, that that work is the prerogative of the Holy 
Ghost. By a special influence on the heart, that divine 
agent removes the disturbing cause, and confusion gives 
place to order, discord is turned into harmony, sin retires, 
holiness reigns in pristine beauty and the disenthralled mind 
exults in heaven-born freedom and purity. Surely then no 
language can adequately describe, how precious a favor to 
man is the special influence of the Holy Spirit. 

Finally. We see what a cheering prospect is before ev- 
ery real Christian. When the Christian finds himself again 
and again overcome by besetting sins, caught so often in the 
snares of Satan, beguiled so sadly by the allurements of the 
world, it is not strange that he should often be ready to give 



112 SPIRITUAL LIBERTY. 

up all as lost ; and when he discovers the plague within him, 
the deceitfulness and desperate wickedness of his own 
heart, it is not strange that he should feel as if his bondage 
were utterly hopeless. And how many times during his 
course of struggles and conflicts does he sink down over- 
whelmed with a sense of guilt and shame and moral impo- 
tence. How man}^ times does he cry out under the oppres- 
sive load, who shall deliver me from the body of this death ; 
who shall set me free from this mass of moral putridity which 
is weighing nriy soul down to Hell ? 

But every saint now in heaven once traveled along the 
game rugged path, and felt the same discouragements. 

Pilgrims in this vale of tears. 
Once they knew, like us below, 
Gloomy doubts, distracting fears, 
Torturing pain, and heavy wo. 

And the same issue of the course is before every one who 
is now a pilgrim, and there is now the same security that the 
Christian will reach the happy goal. The Holy Spirit dwells 
in some sense in every Christian mind, and where that Spirit 
is, there is liberty. The work of moral emancipation is begun, 
and it will go on. Beholding as in a glass the glory of his 
Lord, the Christian will be changed into the same image, 
from glory to glory. The foundation of God standeth sure ; 
the Lord knoweth them that are his, and they shall advance 
from strength to strength, till all of them do appear be- 
fore him in Zion. 

Take courage, then, ye almost disheartened disciples. The 
seal of redemption is upon you, and the gei^m of perfect 
moral freedom, the noblest and richest treasure of an im- 
mortal being, is within you ; and just in the degree in which 
you seek and secure the indwelling of the Spirit of God in 
your souls, this germ will expand and grow. Yet ever bear 



SPIRITUAL LIBERTY. 113 

in mind, — if you indulge in sin the progress of your eman- 
cipation will be hindered by your own act ; a single wicked 
choice, a single guilty aiFection or emotion is a partial sur- 
render of your liberty ; and if you grieve away from your 
bosom the Spirit of the Lord, you thereby thrust yourselves 
back hopelessly into the bond of iniquity and the gall of 
bitterness. Remember too, what this freedom, which you are 
beginning to enjoy, cost in its purchase ; no price of silver 
or gold procured it ; it was not won on the battle field where 
brave and generous ancestors fell in the deadly strife ; it 
was a legacy from the dying Son of God, put in your posses- 
sion by the Holy Spirit. You will, then, cherish this liber- 
ty ; animated with the cheering prospect of a final triumph 
over sin and everlasting deliverance from it, you will press 
forward in your course, aiming ever at the glorious prize 
of your high calling, looking ever to Jesus the author and 
finisher of your faith. A few conflicts more, a few more 
steps in the toilsome passage upward, and you will stand in 
his heavenly presence, and see him as he is and be like him, 
each of you a redeemed, regenerated spirit, brought into the 
full liberty of an elect child of God, with all'your powers 
and capacities fitted to act in holy harmony together, and in 
delightful unison v/ith the countless throng of saints and an- 
gels around the throne. 



SERMON II. 
THE AUTHOR OF REGENERATION. 

But as many as receivkd him, to them gave he power 
to become the sons of god, even to them that believe 

ON HIS name; WHICH WERE BORN, NOT OF BLOOC NOR OF 
THE WILL OE THE FLESH, NOR OF THE WILL OF MAN, BUT OF 

God. "--John i. 12, 13. 

A simple and brief paraphase will best exhibit tlie sense 
of this passage. " All those," the writer would assert, "who 
received Christ, truly believing on him, enjoyed the privi- 
lege of being sons of God, having experienced a birth which 
proceeded, not from natural consanguinity, or physical gen- 
eration, or from any human influence, but from the agency 
of God." 

Did those, who embraced the Savior when he appeared 
on earth, receive the privilege of being sons of God? Then 
the same privilege will be ours, ray brethren, if we cordial- 
ly admit the Redeemer to our hearts. .And is it not a val- 
uable, a precious privilege ? To have the Lord Almighty 
for our Father, and be led by the Spirit of God, and receive 
the Spirit of his Son sent forth into our hearts and be heirs 
of God through Christ ! Oh, who can estimate the privilege! 
Well does the apostle John exclaim, in one of his affection" 
ate epistles, " Behold what manner of love the Father 
hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of 
God I" 



THE AUTHOR OF REGENERATION- 115 

It is not my object, however, in the present discourse, to 
dwell on the privileges of the sons of God, but to consider 
the origin of that change by which they are introduced into 
this interesting relation, and to illustrate and enforce the 
truth, that God is the author of Regeneration ; or Regener- 
ation is a change wrought hy the Spirit of God. Respecting 
the essential nature of this change, I will merely remark 
here, that it is an internal, moral, abiding change wrought in 
man. It is an internal change, affecting the thoughts of the 
mind, and giving new views of religious truth. It is a mor- 
al change, affecting the state of the heart, and giving entire- 
ly new feelings. Before the change, in all the multitude 
and variety of the man's feelings, there was not one emotion 
of true holiness, not one affection of real love to God, and of 
course not one emotion or affection which can meet the de- 
mands of the divine law. After the change, although there 
are many sinful emotions and unholy feelings, the heart of- 
ten feels the glow of holy affection ; sincere love to God 
and the creatures of God often occupies the soul ; and in 
greater or less degree, all the mental exercises and tempers 
required by the gospel are experienced and fostered. The 
change is abiding^ not ceasing with the momentary and ac- 
cidental excitements, by which it is often attended, and which 
the superficial observer or the scoffing infidel may consider 
as its only cause, but continuing through the w^hole life and 
manifesting itself in habitual obedience to the commands of 
God, and habitual zeal for his honor and glory. Such, brief- 
ly, is the nature of the change which takes place in every 
instance of Regeneration. Of every such change the Spirit 
of God is the author. 

It may tend to satisfy us of this truth to observe : 
First, it is a change every way worthy of His agency. 
"Were it in any respect unworthy of this exalted being, 
were it beneath his greatness and dignity, we might feel re- 



116 THE AUTHOR OP REGENERATION?". 

luctant to ascribe it to his operations. For, boundless as is 
the compassion of our God, and much as his condescension 
will stoop to benefit his creatures, he will engage in no work, 
he will perform no act, unworthy of his glorious and eleva- 
ted character. But the change is such, that it is highly hon- 
orable to him to ascribe it to his agency. It is a change from 
sin to holiness. Is there anything unworthy of God in an 
act, which goes to destroy sin and promote holiness ? Was it 
worthy of God to stamp his own image on the heart of man 
at the creation, and is it not worthy of him to restore that im- 
age, when despoiled and effaced by an enemy ? Is it honor- 
able to a good king to induce a disloyal subject by kind and 
gentle persuasions to return to his duty,and is it not honorable 
to God, to bring back to allegiance a wandering rebel by a 
sweet and transforming influence upon his heart ? Is it well 
in the Creator to form a vessel unto honor, and is it not bet- 
ter to take a vessel of wrath fitted for destruction, and frame 
it into a vessel of mercy fitted for glory ? 

But again, the change requires the putting forth of a mighty 
energy. The whole current of a man's thoughts and feelings 
is interrupted by it, and diverted into a new channel. The 
formidable and almost resistless power of habit is overcome. 
The skin of the Ethiopian is cleansed, the spots of the leopard 
are washed away. T^e haughty and stubborn will, also, is 
curbed, and broken down, and subdued. The lion is tamed into 
the lamb. The moral nature of the soul is altered. By almost 
wonderful generation, purity springs up from impurity ; by a 
strange and peculiar metamorphosis, hatred is turned into 
love. Now must it not require a mighty influence to pro* 
duce a revolution like this, upturning all the foundations of 
the soul, and cleansing out its many hidden defilements, im- 
parting to each of its faculties a new principle of exertion, 
and spreading over its whole frame a new aspect of loveli- 
ness and grandeur ? And is not the act, which terminates 



THE AUTHOR OP REGENERATION. 117 

in such an effect, worthy of the omnipotence of God ; and 
shall we not ascribe it to him, of whom it hath been beauti- 
fully said, " the heart of the King is in his hands, and as 
the rivers of water, he turneth it." The change is moreover 
highly beneficial. It is beneficial to society. Who would 
not desire, even for the social and secular interests of the 
neighborhood, that every man were a Christian ? Many a 
pious believer may indeed be far less useful and important 
as a citizen, than another person, who is an utter stranger to 
vital religion ; but is he not far more useful than he could 
be, if he were not a Christian ? And who will say that this 
other person would not be still more useful than he is, could 
he add to his promptness and alacrity in business, to his good 
sense and sound judgment, his tender sympathies, his ami- 
able manners, and his public spirit, could he add to all these 
the peculiar feelings of a sincere and elevated piety? Only 
let the wealth and talents and influence which God entrusts 
to a few individuals in every society, — entrusts, let it be re- 
membered however, only for a short period and with the 
condition of receiving a strict account of their employment — 
only let these advantages be consecrated to the cause of truth 
and benevolence, as they always will when the individuals 
possessing them experience the change of regeneration, and 
there can be no doubt that the change is beneficial to socie- 
ty. And is it not beneficial to the individual himself? Is 
it no benefit to enjoy here all the blesings of communion 
with " the Father of Spirits," to possess all the privileges of 
a son of God j especially, to hold a claim to an inheritance 
incorruptible and undefiled and that fadeth not away ? But 
if the change of which we speak is thus beneficial in its con- 
sequences, it is without a doubt worthy of the special agency 
of God to produce it ; and in ascribing the positive and di- 
rect power to him, whose tender mercies are over all the 
works of his hands, we surely do an honor to his infinite be- 
nevolence* 11 



118 THE AUTHOR OF REGENERATION. 

While we perceive that the renewal of the human heart 
is every way worthy of the agency of the Spirit of God, it 
may still further satisfy us that Pie is its author, if we ob- 
serve, 

Secondly : The manner and circumstances, in which it of- 
ten takes place, require the supposition of his agency. It takes 
place under such circumstances, that you cannot account for 
it, unless you ascribe it to the Spirit of God. — You cannot at- 
tribute it to the poiver of eloquence or of argument. Multi- 
tudes have listened to the most irresistible demonstrations of 
the christian doctrines, and their hearts have remained un- 
touched. Multitudes too have heard the most overwhelm- 
ing appeals of christian eloquence, and have still lived and 
died unregenerated. David Hume more than once experi- 
enced the enchaining power of christian oratory ; but Hume 
still continued a scoffing infidel. Felix heard a speaker who 
made him tremble, as he reasoned of righteousness and the 
judgment to come ; but Felix did not repent. And yet 
many a sinner of greater intellect than Hume, and of greater 
power and authority than Felix, has been bowed down by 
means of the foolishness of preaching, and preaching, too, 
which made no pretensions but to proclaim Christ crucifi- 
ed. 

The change is not owing to the influence of novel and 
splendid truths. For, it is an indisputable fact, that, in a 
vast majority of cases, it is occasioned by the simplest truths 
in religion, and those too, with which the person has long been 
familiar, which have been presented to his mind a thousand 
times before, but have made no impression, passing away 
from his remembrance, like a summer's cloud from the sky. 
And what is it, that has given all at once to this simple and 
familiar truth, such a power to enchain the man's attention, 
to awaken his conscience, to show him his guilt, to drive him 
away to his closet and his Bible, and bring him upon his 



THE AUTHOR OF REGENERATION. 119 

knees in prayer, and fill liis eyes with tears, and his heart 
with sorrow for sin, and lead liira to renounce the world, and 
with it all its fbWies and pleasures and honors and gains, and 
make him through the whole of his subsequent life another 
man in conduct and feeling and principle ? Whence has this 
trite, this so often reiterated and hitherto powerless truth 
obtained such unexpected and mysterious efficiency ? 
"Whence, my brethren, but from that all-pervading Spirit, 
who hath said, that his word shall accomplish the purpose for 
which he sendeth it ? 

Again, the change is not produced h^ the mere injluence of 
grand and overwhelming occasions. For while many of 
these pass away without securing the least permanent effect 
upon the heart, the most trifling circumstances are often 
the means of bringing about a complete transformation « All 
the stupendous miracles attending the crucifixion of the Sa- 
vior, although the sun was darkened and darkness was over 
the whole land, and the veil of the temple was rent in twain 
from the top to the bottom, and the earth did shake, and the 
rocks were rent, and the graves were opened, and many bod- 
ies of the saints who slept arose and went into the holy city 
and appeared unto many, all these st:ipendous miracles had 
no influence to soften and subdue the citizens of Jerusalem ; 
while the feeble cry of Jonah, an unknown and unprotected 
foreigner, wandering in the streets of a licentious and idola- 
trous city, and uttering an alarm which might seem 
more like the raving of a madman than a rational and 
credible prediction, aroused the people and the nobles and 
the king of Nineveh from their slumber of iniquity, to fast, 
and put on sack-cloth and cry mightily unto God. So it is 
now. Let a terrible pestilence, like that which has swept 
from the Eastern continent its millions of victims, come upon 
one of our cities ; let death go prowling through its lane§ 
^and alleys, wearying himself day and night, w^th the loath= 



120 THE AUTHOR OF HE GENE RATION. 

some burden of liis spoils, and carrying into every liabitation 
and every household his fearful desolations : the inhabitants 
may be filled with alarm ; they may sit and gaze at each 
other in the silence of terror ; they may flee to their houses 
and friends at a distance from the melancholy scene ; but 
few of them become new creatures, in Christ Jesus : they 
continue impenitent and enemies to God amidst their fearful 
desolations. At another time, in the city's highest prosper- 
ity, when the sound of the viol echoes through its halls, and 
the smiles of peace and joy beam around its firesides, let a 
single infant, of only a few days, sicken and die ; its mother 
for the l!rst time, although she has before committed more 
than one like precious deposit to the cold grave, thinks seri- 
ously of her own death ; eternity in the appalling magnitude 
of its realities and claims rises before her ; and here her 
thoughts are fixed till a visible and striking change is 
wrought in her ; and this fastens an influence upon a sister, 
a brother, or companion, and through them it goes out upon 
others, till at length you behold a new aspect brought over 
many of the families ; and soon you find a ipow erf u\ revival 
originating from this slight occasion in the very community 
which had remained far from righteousness under the most 
terrific dispensations of Providence. 

The history of individual Christians will abundantly 
show, that the change is often connected with circumstances 
apparently the most trifling, and in many cases after others, 
apparently much more impressive and afi^ecting, had exerted 
no such influence. The religions impressions of one of the 
best ministers, and one of the ablest of the later divines of 
N. England,* originated in the circumstance of his being 
required, on a certain occasion, to explain the Copernican 
System to a collection of youth. In the midst of his task, an 
overwhelming view of the greatness and glory of the Al- 

^ Dr. Springs of Newbiiryport. 



THE AUTHOR OF REGENERATION. 121 

mighty arcliitect seized and occupied and subdued his mind. 

The excellent Dr. Scott traced his conversion to the 
simple circumstance of being reproved for a certain error 
by an ungodly man. •' If my fault, said he to himself, ap- 
pears in such a light even to this ungodly man, how must it 
appear in the sight of the Holy God ? " The celebrated 
Bunyan, whose name will ever be precious to Christians, 
was first awakened to contrition by hearing a poor and aged 
woman mourn over her aggravated sins. 

A gay youth of high rank and connections had joined a 
party of thoughtless companions in a ball room. The music 
began, and the festive amusement went on. He was full of 
joy and glee. But in the midst of the festivity of the scene, 
the clock struck one. That note fell with terror upon his ear. 
It brought to his mind the following passage of a religious 
poet. 

The bell strikes one; we take no note of time 
Bat by its loss. To give it then a tongue, 
Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, 
I feel the solemn sound : if heard aright, 
It is the knell of my departed hours. 
Where are they ? 

Conviction seized the youth. His thoughts glanced for- 
ward to death and the judgment. He fled frooi the hall, 
hurried to his closet, and became a new man. 

In the year A. D. 1842 there died, in the state of Massa- 
chusetts, a man aged about 117 years. He was a native of 
England. When quite a boy, he heard the venerable John 
Flavel preach upon the text, " If any man love not the Lord 
Jesus Christ, let him be anathema, maranatha." When 
Flavel arose to pronounce the benediction, he said, '• how 
shall I bless this whole assembly, when every person in it, who 
loveth not the Lord Jesus Christ, is anathem.i, maranatha." 

11* 



122 THE AUTHOR OF REGENERATION. 

The man afterwards came to this country, and lived a thought- 
less sinner, until he was an hundred years old. One day, 
while at work alone in his field at this advanced age, the 
text and sermon and the attendant circumstances were re- 
called to his memory, and were the means of his awaken- 
ing and conviction. He soon made a profession of religion, 
and, during the sixteen years which he lived afterwards, con- 
tinued to give pleasing evidence of piety. 

Christian biography may furnish us with thousands of in- 
stances analogous to these. Now how is it that, after a 
man has repeatedly witnessed the most affecting occasions, 
and been placed in the most impressive circumstances, and 
been plied, time after time, with the most urgent and 
alarming calls of Providence, and has passed through the 
whole without a moment's interruption of his carnal securi- 
ty — how is it that this same man is afterwards touched and 
awakened by some circumstance, or event, as trivial and as 
accidental apparently as the falling of a leaf, and is pur- 
sued by the reflections it occasions, till he is transformed into 
a new character ? How is it, unless there is, behind this 
event, the agency of an invisible Spirit, which is like the 
wind, " blowing where it listeth, and no man can tell, whence 
it cometh, or whither it goeth ?" 

Once more, the means instrumental in the change have a 
different influence on different persons in the same situation 
and at the same time. Let the ambassador of Christ utter 
from the pulpit the solemn proclamations of the gospel. It 
may be, that one of his numerous hearers is pricked in the 
heart, and goes home, bowing under an oppressive burden, 
and anxiously inquiring, what he must do, while all the rest 
return unawakened and undisturbed, praising or censuring 
the sermon, or relating their anecdotes, or talking upon the 
business of the week. Now how does it happen so ? It 
is not because this man is weak and ignorant, for often 



THE AUTHOR OF REGENERATION. 123 

it is the most intelligent and cultivated man in the assem- 
bly that is thus smitten. Neither is it because he is in- 
telligent and cultivated. For often he is the reverse, the 
most ignorant in the audience. Nor is it owing to his pre- 
vious belief, for often it is a man who has ridiculed the whole 
subject of religion ; nor to his previous desires, for often it 
is a man, who has hated the warning voice of conscience, 
and who even now wishes to silence it, and will struggle 
long and violently against the thoughts and feelings which 
are rushing upon his mind. And is there any supposition 
by which you can satisfactorily explain it, that one should 
thus be taken, while another is left, except you admit 
that he is smitten by that mighty archer, whose unseen 
arrow glides by every other object to reach its proper 
mark, and pierces the heart with a deep and painful 
wound, that the smitten sinner may hasten to the kind 
physician, and receive from the Holy Spirit that anoint- 
ing, which is sweeter and more healing than the balm of 
Gilead. 

If the change implied in Kegeneration is worthy of the 
agency of God's Spirit, and takes place in circumstances 
which naturally lead us to suppose his agency in it, we may 
then be abundantly satisfied, that He is its author, if there 
is any confirmation of it in the Scriptures ; and therefore 
let us observe, 

Thirdly : That the Bible expressly ascribes the change to the 
agency of God. It does this in a variety of ways. There 
are many passages, in which God promises to produce the 
change, and in such a manner as implies his own special 
agency. In Deut. 30 : 6, " The Lord thy God will cir- 
cumcise thy heart, and the heart of thy seed, to love the 
Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, that 
thou mayst live." In Jer. 31: 33, "After those days, I 
will put my law in their inward parts, and write it in their 



124 THE AUTHOR OF REGENERATION. 

hearts, and will be their God ;" and 32 : o9, " I will give 
them one heart and one way, that they may fear me for- 
ever." The Apostle Paul applies these passages of the 
prophet, to the time of the Christian dispensation, when the 
Spirit of God descended in rich and powerful influences. 
In Ezekiel 36 : 26, (Cf. 11 : 19), the language is still more 
explicit: "Anew heart also will I give you, and a new 
Spirit will I put wdthin you ; and I will take away the 
stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give you a heart of 
flesh. And I will put my Spirit within you, and cause you 
to walk in my statutes, and ye shall keep my judgments, and 
do them." These promises manifestly imply, that it belongs 
to the agency of God to renew the heart. But in passages 
still more numerous, it is called, when accomplished, the 
work or gift of God. The graces of repentance and faith 
are given or granted by him. Acts 11 : 13. ii Tim. 2: 25. 
Eph. 2:8. " Then hath God also to the Gentiles granted re- 
pentance unto life." " In meekness instructing them, that 
oppose themselves ; if God, peradventure, will give them 
repentance." '' By grace are ye saved through faith ; and 
that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God." Christians 
are called the workmanship of God — the " work of his hand, 
the branch of his planting," (Isaiah 60 : 21). " Ye are 
God's husbandry, ye are God's building," (i Cor. 2 : 2). He 
that hath wrought us to this, is God," (ii Cor. 5:5). " For 
we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good 
ivorks," (Eph. 2 : 10). "If any man be in Christ, he is a 
new creature, or rather a new creation," (ii Cor. 5 : 17). 
And Christians are said to be begotten of God. " Of his own 
will begat he us," (James 1:18). " Which were born not of 
blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, 
but of God." This last passage, which is our text, is a posi- 
tive assertion, that regeneration is the work of God alone ; 
it expressly affirms that the birth, by virtue of which Chris- 



THE AUTHOR OF REGENERATION. 125 

tians are the children of God, is a birth not effected by any 
physical operations in blood and flesh, not resulting from 
any mere human influences of any kind, but produced by 
the agency of God. So, " I will run in the v»ay of thy com- 
mandments, when thou shalt enlarge my heart," (Ps. 
119 : 32). " He who hath begun a good work in you, will 
perform, it until the day of Jesus Christ," (Phil. 1:6). "The 
God of peace make you perf'ict in every good work to do 
his will, working in you that which is well pleasing in his 
sight," (Heb. 13 : 20, 21). If the agency of God is neces- 
sary to foster the principles of piety after they are implant- 
ed, who can doubt the necessity of that agency in first im- 
planting them ? If the Spirit of God only can carryfor- 
ward the process of sanctification, then the Spirit of God 
only can hecjin it. 

Finally, let me add, there are passages which assure us 
that all, who do not experience the power of a divine agen- 
cy, will, in the continued exercise and voluntary indulgence 
of a wicked heart, remain impenitent, and Avili be excluded 
from heaven. " No man can come unto me,'' says Christ, 
" except the Father draw him," (John 6 : 44). And, " Ex- 
cept a man be born of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the 
kingdom of God," (John 3:5). And how is this, unless it 
be the fact, that the change, which is implied in coming to 
Christ, and which is necessary for admission to heaven, is 
produced only by the Spirit of God ? 

We believe then, my brethren, that God alone is the 
author of Regeneration, and of this w^e are satisfied from the 
nature of the work, from the circumstances in which it takes 
place, and from the explicit and abundant testimony of 
Scripture. 

But we must not drop our subject, without noticing some 
of the practical suggestions, which flow from it. 

1. The truth demonstrated admonishes every one to be 



126 THE AUTHOR OF REGENERATION. 

careful, how he regards the work of regeneration. It is the 
work of the Holy Spirit. Some have dared to think and 
speak lightly of it ; but to do so, is to make a mock of one 
of the most glorious acts of the Infinite Spirit of God. To 
esteem lightly the work of the creation, by which God 
brought a world from nothing, displaying chiefly his physi- 
cal omnipotence, is the atheism of a fool ; but it is the pre- 
sumption of the reprobate to think lightly of the new crea- 
tion, the act by which God builds holiness on the ruins of 
sin, changes rebels into saints, and thus displays, in a most 
astonishing manner, the omnipotence of his grace. It is an 
infidel and ungodly heart, that can utter a caviling word 
against the Son of God; but Christ himself has charged 
far more audacious guilt upon him, that blasphemeth against 
the Holy Ghost. " Whosoever shall speak a word against 
the Son of Man, it shall be forgiven him : but unto him that 
blasphemeth against the Holy Ghost, it shall not be for- 
given." 

2. This subject reminds us, that Christians should ever 
be humble. They have experienced a great transforma- 
tion. They were once children of wrath, but are now 
children of the everlasting kingdom ; they were once strang- 
ers and aliens, but are now citizens and members of the 
household of faith. They are no longer impenitent, unholy, 
unregenerate ; they are washed, they are sanctified, they 
are justified ; they are precious in the sight of God ; they 
are the objects of his constant and tender regard here, and 
hereafter he will crown them with honor and glory and im- 
mortality. And shall the Christian, then, begin to boast? 
Oh ! stop ! think a moment. Who took your feet from the 
miry clay, and planted them on the rock of ages ? Who 
wrested you from the slavery of sin, and gave you the free- 
dom of a child of God ? Who separated you from an un- 
godly world ? *^ Who maketh thee to diflTer ? What hast 



THE AUTHOR OF REGENERATION- 127 

thou, that thou didst not receive? Now if thou didst receive 
it, why dost thou glory, as if thou hadst not received it ?'* 
Remember, too, what you received ; it was not any physi- 
cal help under an innocent inability, but a gracious renew- 
ing under a hardened depravity ; in which the great want 
of power consisted in a mere want of disposition, so that 
when you received the power to become the sons of God, 
the Holy Spirit wrought in you simply to make you willing. 

3. Christians should be devoted to God. He hath 
made them new creatures, by the washing of regener- 
ation and the renewing of the Holy Ghost. And does 
not such an act by him impose special obligations on thsm ? 
Hear his declaration : " This people have I formed for my- 
self; they shall shew forth my praise," (Ts. 43 : 21). Hear 
the apostle Peter : " Ye are a chosen generation, a royal 
priesthood, a holy nation, a peculiar people ;" — but for what 
purpose ? " that ye should shew forth the j)raises of him 
who hath called you out • of darkness into his marvelous 
light/' (i Peter 2 : 9). 

My Christian friend, had God just made you monarch of 
the earth, and given you a right " to call the stars your 
own," would you not feel under obligation to serve him all 
your days ? But, if you are a Christian indeed, he has 
done unspeakably greater things for you ; he has given you 
a title to the " mansion in the skies," where you shall for- 
ever be as a king and a priest unto God. 

4. The subject furnishes unfailing encouragement to 
labor for the conversion of the impenitent. It is the pre- 
rogative of the Holy Spirit to change their hearts. Did it 
depend on the exertion of human power ; were there no 
influence to bear upon them but that of sermons, or books, 
or conversation, the case would be hopeless. Genius might 
write, and eloquence preach, and afiection and friendship 
converse ; you might ply them, in all the skill and strength 



128 THE AUTHOR OF REGENERATION. 

of whicli a mortal is capable, with warnings, and exhorta- 
tions, and arguments, and entreaties ; your labor would be 
that of a dreaming man ; it would accomplish nothing ; it 
would be like the appliances of the lily leaf upon the rock 
of the ocean. But there is an Invisible and Almighty 
Agent, at whose coming the mountains flow down, before 
whose wrath the rocks melt away ; and when he descends 
upon the mind in his unperceived but all-subduing efficien- 
cy, then the conversation, or the book, or the sermon, be- 
comes an instrument of life and salvation. To the most 
trifling event or circumstance, his secret presence imparts a 
mysterious energy to prostrate in a moment the fortress of 
sin, which had long mocked every effort of Christians and 
ministers, and shut out from the soul all the light and 
truth of the gospel. Here, then, ye disciples of Christ, 
who love the souls of your friends, companions and fellow 
creatures, here is an unfailing encouragement. Your effort 
may be the instrument and channel of an Almighty efficien- 
cy. It is nothing in itself, but, through his strength, it will 
save a soul. Although a hundred previous efforts have 
proved fruitless, the very next one may gather a precious 
sheaf for immortality. In the morning sow thy seed, in 
the evening withhold not thy hand. Not until you see the 
sinner close his eyes in death, to sink in the devouring 
flames, should you give over your efforts ; for till then the 
arm of your Savior is mighty to pluck brands from the 
burning. 

5. This subject forces upon our notice the melancholy 
fact, that no sinner ever performs his duty in a single thing, 
before he is regenerated by the Holy Spirit. Possessing 
all the powers of a responsible moral agent, he is under 
constant and immediate obligation to exercise all those af- 
fections, and perform all those actions, which God com- 
mands. He is absolutely commanded by God to repent of 



THE AUTHOR OF REGENERATION. 129 

sin, to believe in Christ and to love the Lord with all his 
soul. To do these things is really to make to himself a 
new heart and a new Spirit ; which he is commanded by 
God to do, as, for example, in the following passage, " Cast 
away from you all your transgressions, and make you a 
new heart and a new Spirit ; for, why will ye die," (Ezek. 
18: 31). But this new heart the sinner does not make, 
and he will not make ; and whatever he does with his unho- 
ly heart, without repentance, or faith, or love to God, is, at 
its very best estate, a smothered abomination. 

Among the thousand excuses which men offer for neg- 
lecting religion, if there be one which is more flagrantly im- 
pious than any other, it is that, by which a sinner pretends 
to justify himself by saying, that it is the work of the Spirit 
to change the heart. Most certainly, that work, whenever 
the Spirit does it, is on his part a work of infinite and 
sovereign grace. He thereby gives that new heart, which 
the sinner ought to make to himself, and for not making 
which to himself, the sinner may justly be punished by God 
with instant and everlasting destruction. Nothing hinders 
the sinner from doing his duty, but the inclination or dispo- 
sition of his own heart ; and if the Bible declares and ob- 
servation confirms the fact, that the sinner's heart is changed 
only by the power of God's Spirit, then the Bible and ob- 
servation do thereby show, how strongly his inclination or 
disposition is fixed against repentance and faith and love of 
God. In demonstrating the fact that the Spirit is the sole 
author of regeneration, we thereby exhibit the amazing de- 
pravity of man. By such a demonstration, we do not divest 
the sinner of his guilt, we only expose its enormity. I 
have been at a sad task, if it was to fabricate a shield 
against the arrows of truth and the sword of the Spirit. It 
is not a preacher's business to apply any soothing unction, 
to quiet the consciences of the unregenerate. May God 

12 



130 THE AUTHOR OF REGENEEATION. 

help me, that I may never in any way administer an opiate, 
to prolong the slumber of the impenitent sinner on the 
brink of ruin. 

Finally, we see the peculiar danger and guilt of those, 
who continue impenitent in a revival of religion. What- 
ever may be true as to other sinners, those who live in the 
midst of a revival and continue impenitent, unquestionably 
resist the Holy Spirit. Probably every sinner, that enjoys 
the light of the gospel, enjoys also, at some time or other 
during his life, some degree of the peculiar strivings of the 
Spirit. And perhaps every lost sinner, whether from a 
gospel land or not, in addition to all his other bitter recol- 
lections and self-reproaches, may have the stinging remem- 
brance, that once at least, during his probation, he felt a cer- 
tain mysterious influence upon his mind, moving him to at- 
tend to the concerns of eternity. Sure I am, that the pub- 
lished biographies of several irreligious men disclose the 
fact, that such an influence was once felt by them. There 
was a certain Sabbath evening, in the life of Napoleon, just 
before he commenced his career of fierce ambition, when, 
as he looked upon the bi'ight blue arch over him, all thickly 
studded with twinkling stars, strange thoughts and feelings 
occupied his mind ; the present world dwindled away into 
something of its proper littleness, and eternity came into 
view in something of its vastness and importance. That 
Was a moment big with consequences to his immortal soul ; 
it was a moment, I cannot doubt, of heavenly influences ; 
and had he properly yielded to them, while the whole sub- 
sequent history of this globe had been different, one bril- 
liant star might have been saved from its wandering in the 
blackness of darkness forever. 

But whatever may be the case, in other circumstances, 
ginners cannot witness and enjoy what they do in a revival, 
and remain in their sins, without resisting the Holy Spirit 



THE AUTHOR OF REGENERATION. 131 

It is this indubitable fact, that renders the few days of the 
most common revival so avviujlj momentous, as a part of 
the sinner's probation. Often does such a sinner imagine, 
that the revival has in no way affected him ; it all appears 
to him like a brief gust of the idle wind, which passes by 
and leaves not a trace, or mark, or influence of any kind 
upon him. But scarcely could he make a greater mistake. 
It poured upon him a flood of light; it involved him in a 
fearful responsibility ; it laid upon him a tremendous obliga- 
tion ; it uttered in his soul the voice of God ; it wrought 
upon his conscience a movement which, whether known by 
him to be so or not, was nevertheless wrought by the 
agency of the Holy Spirit. And he improved not that 
light ; he heeded not that responsibility ; he owned not that 
obligation ; he regarded not that voice of God ; he yielded 
not to that agency of the Holy Spirit. Oh ! who can tell, 
how much and how wofully that revival has affected him, 
although he may now consider it as nothing to him. All 
the thoughts and feelings, he indulged during it, are an in- 
destructible portion of his own consciousness. Yes ! the 
revival has lodged in his soul certain remembrances which, 
should they be buried in entire oblivion for ages, may then 
be reproduced in all the freshness of a present reality ; and, 
what is unspeakably worse, in the revival he has incurred 
a guilt, which may arm those remembrances with a power 
to goad, and sting him, whenever they are awakened, as 
with the fangs of a hundred fiery serpents. The sinner 
can resist and repel from his soul all the happy influences 
of a revival ; he can so act as to prevent its bringing to him 
any good ; but, by so doing, he necessarily converts it into 
an occasion of terrible mischief to himself. While the 
heavenly influence is breathing around him, offering health 
and eternal life, the sinner's ungrateful and impious exclu- 
sion of it from his own bosom transforms it, as it were, into 



132 THE AUTHOR OF REGENERATION. 

a noxious vapor, which may convey only pestilence and 
death. The revival does affect the sinner that remains im- 
penitent. He holds a new, more perilous and more guilty 
position of rebellion against his Master, of resistance to that 
Holy Spirit, who is the sole author of regeneration. This 
is true not of him only, who is almost persuaded to be a 
Christian, but yet refuses, or of him who is pungently con- 
victed, but yet not converted ; it is also true of him who is 
only alarmed, and soon falls to sleep again ; and it is also 
true of the stupid sinner, whose conscience is not once 
roused from its leaden slumber. My impenitent hearers, 
this is not idle declamation. I state to you a simple mat- 
ter of fact, and that fact is your own present position as a 
moral and accountable agent, living under the government 
of the immutable God. You have resisted, and you do re- 
sist that influence which would make you a new creature in 
Christ Jesus. The first and great requirement, both of the 
law and of the gospel, is an act which cannot be withheld, 
by a moral agent, without the existence of a moral act. 
"Want of love to God is enmity to God ; not to believe in 
Christ is to disbelieve ; not to repent of sin is to cherish 
sin ; not to yield to the Holy Ghost is to resist the Holy 
Ghost. This, my dying fellow sinner, is your alternative, 
as a moral agent under God's holy and immutable govern- 
ment. You cannot alter it. You cannot change the nature 
of moral agency ; nor can you escape from its consequen- 
ces. You can yield to the truth and Spirit of God, or you 
can continue to resist; but you cannot avoid doing the one 
or the other. For, God, who made you, and who sustains 
you every moment, has made you and sustains you a 
moral and accountable agent. You may wish he had 
not, but he has done it. You may wish he had not given 
you a Bible, but he has done it ; and that puts you in a 
condition different from what it would be otherwise. You 



THE AUTHOR OF REGENERATION. 133 

may wish God had not awakened sinners around you, but 
he has done it ; and that has altered your condition. You 
may wish he had not poured out his Holy Spirit here, but 
he has done it ; and that has altered your condition. You 
may wish to be let alone, but God does not let you alone. 
He has come and spoken to you, and you are not as you 
were before. You may wish he would let you have your 
own way. Do you wish he would let you have your own 
way ? I beg you, repress that wish ; beseech him at once, 
not to leave you to yourself, not to take his Holy Spirit 
from you. But forget not that whatever way you take, yoa 
are yourself acting ; acting as an accountable moral being ; 
acting under the immutable laws of such a being ; acting 
for yourself as an immortal Spirit ; acting under an offer 
of mercy from a gracious God : acting in view of Christ 
slain on the cross for your salvation ; acting under a pecu- 
liar call from the Holy Spirit, without whose power you 
will madly abide in your sins and perish. 



w 



SERMON III. 

THE WAYS, AND THE GUILT, OF RESIST- 
ING THE HOLY SPIRIT. 

Ye do always resist the Holt Ghost. — Acts 7 :51. 

These words cannot fail to awaken our recollections re- 
specting the first martyr among the disciples of Christ, the 
liolj Stephen. He was one of those "seven men, of honest 
report, full of the Holy Ghost and wisdom," who were se- 
lected, by Apostolic advice, to superintend the common 
property of the church, and to make distribution to the saints 
according to their necessities. He was preeminent among 
the disciples for his piety, zeal and labors. Being " full of 
faith and power," he " did great wonders and miracles 
among the people." His activity in promoting the true re- 
ligion aroused the hostility of its enemies. They made a 
strong and combined eifort to counteract his influence by de- 
nying his doctrines, and hoped to silence him by disputing 
with him in public. But they were sadly disappointed ; 
" they were not able to resist the wisdom and the spirit by 
which he spake " Tbey then arraigned him before the Jewish 
council on a charge of blasphemy. ••' They stirred up the 
people and the elders and the scribes, and came upon him, 
and caught him, and brought him to the council. And they 
set up false witnesses, which said, " this man ceaseth not to 



THE WAYS OF RESISTING THE HOLY SPIRIT. 135 

speak blasphemous words against tliis lioly place and the 
law." 

Not at all intimidated by these violent proceedings, he 
made a bold and energetic defence, in which he reminds his 
accusers and the council of the aggravated sins of their 
forefathers in rebelling often against God and persecuting 
the prophets, and fearlessly charges his hearers with per- 
sisting in the same course of wicked and obstinate re- 
bellion. "Ye stiff-necked and uncircumsied in heart and 
ears, ye do always resist the Holy Ghost; as your fathers 
did, so do ye." This boldness and plainness cost him his life ; 
for " when they heard these things, they were cut to the 
heart, and they gnashed on him with their teeth." "They 
cast him out of the city and stoned him." But he died in 
triumph. " Being full of the Holy Ghost, he looked up sted- 
fastly into heaven, and saw the glory of God, and Jesus 
standing on the right hand of God." He commended his 
soul to Christ: " Lord Jesus, receive my spirit." With his 
dying breath he prayed for his murderers : " Lord, lay not this 
sin to their charge." Thus died the first Christian martyr. 
'Now he lives and reigns in heaven. An unfading crown 
rests upon his head. And where are his persecutors, those 
men, who then resisted the Holy Ghost ? 

But other men, besides Jewish persecutors, may resist the 
Holy Ghost; there still are those, who may, justly and with 
perfect truth, be addressed in the cutting words of Stephen, 
" Ye do always resist the Holy Ghost." 

The subject, hereby presented to our contemplation, is one 
of solemn interest. While we meditate, let us remember, 
that the Holy Ghost participates in all the glories of the 
adorable Godhead, he'mgthe third perso7i of the Blessed Trin- 
ity ; that he is now in the midst of us, although we see Him 
not ; and let us fear, lest we be guilty of resisting and griev- 
ing Him, even in our attempts to meditate upon the sin of 
doing so. 



136 THE WAYS, AND THE GUILT, 

It may be a useful and lucid manner of treating the sub- 
ject, to consider ^7-5^, the ways of resisting the Holy Spirit, 
and secondly, the guilt of resisting the Holy Spirit. 

In the first place then, I propose to mention some of the 
various ways, in which men may resist the Holy Spirit. 

But here, before proceeding to any particulars, let us as- 
certain, what is meant, in general, by resisting the Holy 
Spirit. The phrase resisting the Holy Spirit is nearly syn- 
nonyraous with grieving the Holy Spirit. The former 
phrase, however, refers more especially to the hostile act of 
the creature, as opposing the Spirit ; while the latter phrase 
points rather to the feelings of the Spirit in consequence of 
that act. When we speak of grieving the Holy Spirit, it is 
not to be supposed, that the Holy Spirit ever suiFers just such 
emotions, as those painful ones, which we experience in the 
moments of grief. Still there is an analogy. The act, which 
is said to grieve the Holy Spirit, is so offensive to Him, that 
it causes that blessed agent to treat the man who performs it, 
as a benefactor is led to treat a man, who grieves and dis- 
pleases him by some ungrateful deed. The benefactor with- 
holds his kindness from such a man. He refuses further to 
help him. A similar effect is produced, when the Holy Spirit 
is said to be grieved. He withdraws his kind assistance ; he 
withholds his gracious presence and influence. He departs 
and leaves the offender to his own folly. This the Holy 
Spirit is provoked to do, whenever he is resisted. Every 
act of resistance to the Holy spirit is therefore something, 
which tends to grieve Him, and everything, which grieves 
Him, is an act of resistance. 

In general then, as we readily see, to do any thing or to 
exercise any feeling, which is contrary to the character or 
works of the Holy Spirit, is to resist and grieve Him. Now 
the character of the Spirit is infinitely pure and holy ; he is 
emphatically called the Holy Spirit. And all his works are 



OF RESISTING THE HOLY SPIRIT. 137 

holy ; it is the special and peculiar work of the Spirit to im- 
plant holiness in the heart of man, and to carry forward the 
process of sanctification, until the heart is made perfectly 
holy. But every thing, which has the nature of sin, is con- 
trary to this holy character and to these holy works. Every 
sinful act, every sinful feeling, is therefore resistance to the 
Holy Spirit To indulge sin in any shape, in any degree, is 
to offend that glorious agent ; is to oppose His character 
and His operations. All sin tends to grieve the Spirit of 
God. 

But there are particular acts, or certain modifications of 
sin, which are more especially and manifestly acts of resist- 
ance to the Holy Spirit. Some of these it will be important 
to specify. 

1. The Holy Spirit is resisted, by a disregard to divine 
truth. By divine truth is meant the doctrines and precepts 
of the sacred Scriptures. "All scripture was given by inspi- 
ration of God " Those, who penned the books constituting 
the Bible, " wrote, as they were moved by the Holy Ghost." 
The Spirit directed their minds by a constant and infallible 
guidance in all, that they left on record for the use of the 
church. Both the credibility and the authority of the Holy 
Spirit are therefore inseparably connected with the actual con- 
tents of the Bible. The precepts and duties, it enjoins, do 
not rest upon the authority of men or angels, but upon the per- 
fections and supremacy of the Spirit of God. The doctrines 
it declares, do not rest upon the arguments of men, or the 
reasonings of any created intellect, but upon the testimony 
of the Holy Ghost. To disregard these precepts or these 
doctrines, in whole or in part, is plainly an act of resistance 
to the Holy Spirit. It is feeling and acting contrary either 
to his nature or to his operations ; for either it denies, that he 
did, by a holy and infallible influence, direct the sacred wri-= 
ters, or it disclaims his perfect and eternal right to teach and 



138 THE WAYS, AND THE GUILT, 

to command men ; it rejects the agency of the Holy Spirit, or 
it disavows His authority and ci edibility. All tho^e, there- 
fore, who refuse to acknowledge the Bible, as a book of in- 
spired truth, are guilty of resisting the Holy Ghost. 

Those also are guilty of resisting Plira, who professedly 
admit the inspii-ation of the Bible, and yet disregard its in- 
btructions. The resistance of the latter class is, if possible, 
more high-handed and stubborn. For by their disregard, 
they virtually charge the Holy Spirit with usurpation, or 
with falsehood ; tliey charge him with teaching doctrines, 
which they will not believe, or they charge him with assu- 
ming an authority, to which they Avill not submit. 

Disregard to I'evealed truth is plainly then one of those 
forms of sin, which are especially and manifestly acts of re- 
sistance to the Holy Ghost. It is so, because He is the glo- 
rious agent, by whom that truth was communicated to men. 

2. The Holy Spirit is resisted, by rejection of Christ. 

Rejection of Christ involves disregard to divine truth ; it is 
disbelief of the Bible respecting Christ, and it is disobedience 
to the commands of the Bible enjoining repentance ; and 
therefore it is resistance to the Holy Spirit in the same sense, 
as is all disregard to revealed truth. And even in this 
sense, it deserves special notice, as a sin against the Spirit, 
because it implies disregard to revealed truth m a very high 
degree. Nothing in the whole Bible is made plainer, than 
the testimony, that Christ is the only Savior, and nothing is 
more clearly enforced, than the command to embrace him in 
repentance and faith. The plainness of this testimony, and 
the frequency and imperativeness of this command, must 
render the sin of disre«;ardino; them a more ans-ravated one. 
Disregard in such circumstances must be more deliberate 
and intentional ; it is more direct and pointed opposition to 
the Spirit that gave the testimony and the command. 

But there is another view, in w^hich the rejection of Christ 



OF RESISTING THE HOLY SPIRIT. 139 

appears more peculiarly an act of resistance to the Holy- 
Spirit. Jesu? Christ is offered to us in the mediatorial char- 
acter, and it is in this character, that he is embraced or re- 
jected. But in this character, he was " anointed with the 
Holj Ghost," (Acts 10 : 31). In order to his discharging 
this office, the Holy Spirit rested on him in a very special 
sense; he received the Spirit without measicre^ {John 3:24). 
And since the Holy Spirit was thus, in a most extraordinary 
manner, concerned in the preparation of Jesus Christ as a 
Mediator, to reject Christ, not to receive him as the Me- 
diator, must be resistance to the Holy Spirit. It is an act of 
opposition to one of his most benevolent and glorious works ; 
it is undervaluing, it is slighting, that holy, divine, omnipo- 
tent energy, with which He ever dwelt in the bosom of the 
Messiah. 

There is another consideration belonging: to this view of 
the subject. These plentiful effusions and holy energies, 
by which the Blessed Spirit rested upon Christ, together 
with the multiplied testimonies of Scripture, by which the 
Holy Ghost still stands forth as a witness for Christ, show, 
that in the mind of the Spirit there is a most ardent desire, 
that Christ should be accepted by men. To accomplish 
this, to secure the acceptance of Christ among men, was the 
grand object sought by the Spirit in all those gracious and 
miraculous operations ; and this object is unalterably pre- 
cious in his view ; it is still dear to him ; it is still the in- 
finitely ardent desire of the Holy Spirit, that men should 
receive Christ into their hearts, as their Savior and Ee- 
deemer. To reject Christ is, therefore, to oppose in the 
most direct manner the benevolent will of the Spirit ; it is 
to counteract his favorite purpose ; to thwart his dearest 
design ; to frustrate that great end, which He has been pur- 
suing ever since the fall of man — to frustrate that darling 
object, for which He raised up the ancient prophets to fore- 



140 THE WAYS, AND THE GUILT, 

tell the coming of a mighty Savior, for which He, by a 
mysterious energy, united the eternal word with human 
flesh, for which he ever dwelt in Jesus by a peculiar pres- 
ence, for which He wrought stupendous miracles through the 
Apostles and the primitive martyrs, for which He descended 
on the day of Pentecost, like a " mighty, rushing wind," 
and in " cloven tongues as of fire," for which, in every suc- 
ceeding age, Fie has descended to accompany the preaching 
of the gospel with the demonstration of the Spirit, and with 
power from on high, for which He has, in this goodly land 
of our inheritance, so often poured his influence on the 
slumbering conscience and hardened heart of the sinner, for 
which He has even deigned to come within these walls, so 
much polluted by our heartless worship. If one opposes an 
object so dear to the Spirit, an object thus ardently and con- 
stantly sought by the Spirit, is it not bold and hardy resist- 
ance to him ? This is done by every man, who rejects 
Christ the Savior. 

But I hasten to another particular. 

3. The Holy Spirit is resisted by the slighting or silenc- 
ing of convictions of conscience. 

A consciousness of sin, a feeling of personal guilt, is expe- 
rienced, at some time or other, by every man without excep- 
tion. It will occasionally creep upon him, in spite even of 
strong efforts to repel it, until, as is sometimes the case, 
after repeated efforts of this kind, the heart and the con- 
science become perfectly callous. 

Even where men have not been enlightened by the word 
of God, they sometimes have a sense of guilt in view of 
their past conduct and feelings. To violate even these 
common rebukes of conscience may be properly considered, 
as resisting the Holy Spirit, especially because the dictates 
and reproofs of conscience are means employed by the 
Spirit to restrain men from folly and sin. 



or RESISTING THE HOLY SPIRIT. 141 

But it is a more manifest resistance, to disregard tlie 
reproofs of conscience, when tbey are those deeper and 
more vivid feelings, which arise from a view of divine 
truth. Such are the misgivings of all those, who are edu- 
cated in a christian land, as the dictates of their consciences 
must necessarily be more or less affected by the Bible. 
When the word of God is read or heard, the doctrines and 
precepts, found on its sacred pages, often give the most 
careless man an impression of his guilt. Conscience awakes 
from her slumbers, and tells the man of his unholy deeds 
and unholy heart. When the preacher, in faithfulness to 
God and to the souls of men, plainly exhibits the divine 
law in its purity, spirituality and extent, and explicitly 
declares its fearful penalty, and the still more fearful threat- 
enings of the gospel in connection with its offers of pardon 
and salvation, the hearer is often compelled to condemn 
himself. The monitor within, as if vicegerent for the 
eternal Judge, passes upon him here beforehand, as it were, 
the final sentence. JSTow does the reader, or hearer, slight 
these internal admonitions? Does he hastily turn away 
from them, or strive to forget them, or engage in pursuits 
which banish them ? Then he resists the Holy Ghost. 
For it is by rebukes of conscience, that the Spirit seeks 
access to the heart. These rebukes and smitings are the 
signs of his coming to the soul. They are the tokens, by 
which the Holy Spirit indicates his readiness to enter and 
purify the inner man. To slight them is to say to that 
Spirit, " we desire not thy presence ! " These rebukes are 
the knockings, (such is the figure used in the Bible), they 
are the knockings which the divine visitor makes at our 
door, and to slight them is to refuse him admission. 

When these inward impressions are raised, as they often 
are by the Spirit of God, to strong and pungent convictions 
of sin, an attempt to silence them is an act of still more ag- 

13 



142 THE WATP, AND THE GUILT, 

gravatecl and hostile resistance to the Holy Ghost. Consid- 
er this a moment ; the man has long resisted the Spirit by 
disregarding divine truth, by rejecting Christ, and by 
slighting all the feebler admonitions of conscience ; but the 
Spirit, in the exercise of infinite patience and compassion, 
3S still striving with him, and has now awakened these keen 
emotions in view of his guilt and danger. If the man 
smothers, or wishes to smother such convictions, is it not 
a manifest, a wilful opposition to the Holy Ghost ? The 
Spirit sought an entrance to the sinner's bosom, but the 
sinner refused. The Spirit has partially, as it were, forced 
an entrance, in the overflowing of his holy love, and is urg- 
ing, in accents of heavenly mercy, the proclamations of the 
gospel, but the man rises in the stubbornness of an unholy 
and impenitent heart, in the fearlessness of a daring de* 
pravity, and bids him, begone. This is not indeed the language 
of his lips, but, horrid as it is, it is loudly uttered in the 
conduct of every one, who slights and silences his convic- 
tions of sin. 

Let us now consider, secondly, 

The guilt of resisting the Holy Spint. 

The Spirit is an agent of infinite purity and excellence. 
To oppose the purposes and will of such an agent, must be 
no trifling offence. We all condemn him, who resists and 
thwarts the designs of a good man. How much more crim- 
inal is he, who opposes that exalted Spirit, whose very 
essence is holiness, unspotted and infinite holiness ? 

The sin has all the baseness of ingratitude. The opera- 
rations and influences of the Holy Spirit are invariably de- 
signed to promote the happiness of men. It is present 
peace and joy with eternal blessedness, which he offers to 
every sinner, and which he urges the sinner to accept. 
These are the blessings, which, with the benevolence of the 
kindest benefactor, the Spirit seeks to impart. To resist 



OF RESISTING THE HOLY SPIRIT. 143 

and oppose him is, therefore, the vilest ingratitude. It is to 
dash the cup of life and salvation from the very hand, which 
offers it. That cup is offered with a condescension and grace, 
that fills heaven with wonder. It is dashed awaj with a 
scorn, which might shock a Spirit in hell ! 

Further, the Spirit of God is the sole author of holiness. 
The holiness of the angels is doubtless, in an important 
sense, to be ascribed to the Spirit of God. If there be, iu 
the universe, any other race of holy beings, their holiness 
also is thus derived from the Spirit of God. In the human 
race, all holiness is specially the fruit of the Holy Spirit ; 
and the production of holiness is the one grand design of 
the Spirit in all his operations on the human mind. When 
any man resists the Holy Spirit, therefore, he declares war 
with all holiness. He counteracts that agency, without 
which holiness must be banished from our world, and even 
from the universe. The man does in fact, just according 
to the degree of his resistance, make an effort to blast and 
wither the moral beauty of the universe. If you shudder 
at the horrid audacity of such an enterprise, remember, it is 
but an index of the guilt of resisting the Holy Spirit. 

Several things in the Bible are calculated to show us the 
enormity of this sin. The frequent and solemn injunctions 
to avoid it, indicate its high moral turpitude. The great 
guilt of this sin is also evinced by many passages, which 
exhibit the consequences of resisting the Spirit. Isaiah, 
(63 : 10) affirms, that God was turned to be the enemy of the 
Israelites, because they vexed his Holy Spirit ; and Zacha- 
riah says, " a great wrath came from the Lord of hosts, 
because they would not hear the words, which he sent inhis 
Spirit.'"* The Apostle Paul asserts, that " it is impossible 
for those who were once enlightened, and were made par- 
takers of the Holy Ghost, if they fall away, to renew them 
,again to repentance." In another passage, after alluding 



144 THE WAYS, Al^B THE GUILT, 

to the fact, that "he, that despised the law of Moses, died 
without mercy," the Apostle asks in a most solemn inter- 
rogative, " Of how much sorer punishment shall he be 
thought worthy, who hath trodden under foot the Son of 
God, and done despite to the Spirit of grace ?" 

The history of Ananias and Sapphira is an awful exhibi- 
tion of the guilt of a sin committed against the Holy Spirit. 
They were both struck instantaneously dead, because " Sa- 
tan filled their hearts to lie unto the Holy Ghost ;" and 
they " agreed together to tempt the Spirit of the Lord." 
There is one declaration by Christ himself, which is of 
dreadful import, bearing on this subject: "Whosoever 
speaketh against the Holy Ghost, it shall not be forgiven 
him, neither in this world, neither in the world to come," 
(Mat. 12 : 31, 32). In this declaration, Christ probably 
referred, primarily, to a blasphemous denying of the agency 
of the Holy Spirit in the miracles wrought by himself and 
his Apostles. But the declaration, even thus limited, does 
plainly show, that an^ opposition to the Holy Spirit is a sin 
of peculiar aggravation. And it certainly implies, that there 
is fearful guilt in so resisting the Holy Spirit, as to speak 
reproachfully, or in ridicule of a revival of religion, or of 
the regeneration of a sinner. The man, who sneers or scoffs 
at a revival, or a conversion, certainly " speaketh against 
the Holy Ghost." Many a thoughtless sinner, who has been 
otherwise very moral and upright in his whole conduct, has 
done this, and by doing it, placed his soul in awful jeopardy. 
I cannot affirm, that every such person has committed the 
unpardonable sin ; but every one, that has uttered a single 
word against the agency by which the Spirit renews the 
soul of man, has reason to tremble, when Christ declares, 
" all manner of sin and blasphemy shall be forgiven unto 
men ;" even " whosoever speaketh a word against the Son of 
Man, it shall be forgiven ; " « but the blasphemy agaii^st 
the Holy Ghost shall not be forgiven unto mea," 



OF RESISTINO THE HOLY SPIRIT. 145 

The considerations which have been suggested sufficiently 
show, that resisting the Holj Spirit is a sin of enormous 
guilt. The man who commits it, is in the highest danger 
of fixing himself forever in the gall of bitterness and bonds 
of iniquity. 

From this subject, we learn the character and condition 
of all those, to whom the dying declaration of Stephen 
might be properly addressed, " Ye do always resist the Holy 
Ghost." And should the now glorified martyr descend from 
heaven, and enter our assembly, would he find none here to 
whom it might be addressed ? 

Might he not turn to the slumbering professor of religion, 
and say : '' The master hath come and calleth for thee ; the 
Spirit of the Lord has been striving with sinners around 
thee : for many days, the voice of Providence has been 
speaking in tones solemn as eternity, bidding you awake out 
of sleep ; but you have not roused your torpid affections, 
nor shaken off your worldly clogs ; and now you do not 
aid, but rather hinder the holy work of urging forward the 
chariot wheels of your triumphing Savior ; you do constant- 
ly resist the Holy Ghost." 

Would not the martyr address his charge to the convicted 
sinner, that remains still U7iconverted ? To such might he 
say : " The Spirit has visited you in infinite mercy, has ar- 
rested your attention after years of stupidity, awakened 
your conscience, pricked you in the heart, shown you your 
guilt, and your depravity, and your helpless and perishing 
condition, pointed you to the Lamb of God and to the offer 
of pardon and eternal salvation that is hung out from the 
cross of Christ, assured you that all things are ready, and 
has up to this very moment been pressing you with the just 
but never to be evaded command of God, repent ; and this 
very day, He still is striving with you ; but you are only a 
convicted sinner ; your heart does not break or bow ; you do 

13* 



146 THE WAYS, AND THE GUILT, 

not submit yourself to the rigoteousness of God, and so you 
constantly resist the Holy Ghost. 

To the alarmed sinner, likewise, might the blessed martyr 
address the dreadful accusation. Many a sinner is alarm- 
ed and filled with surprising fear, who is yet far from being 
convicted. " Alarmed sinner," the holy Stephen might say, 
*'•' ' you do constantly resist the Holy Ghost,' for you only 
think of your own danger, when you should feel for the 
broken law and insulted authority of God, the abused and 
slighted love of Jesus Christ; for the base turpitude and 
hateful ingratitude of your own sins, and the loathsome 
plague and polluted fountain in your own heart. The Spir- 
it is now holding up the glass of divine truth, that you may 
look and discover your true image, and real desert, but al- 
though alarmed at your danger, you avert your eyes, and 
ward off conviction, and thus resist the Holy Ghost." 

And would the sinner, who is a little anxious, escape the 
martyr's reproof? Multitudes, especially in a time of re- 
vival, have a sort of anxiety, which will put them upon 
some attention to the concerns of their souls ; but it is a 
variable, superficial feeling. While others are entering the 
kingdom of heaven, many such will seek to enter, but they 
do not strive. Feeble and listless seeking is but resistance 
to the Holy Spirit ; and to all such, Stephen might say : 
" The Spirit now visits you, and is striving to arouse you to 
earnest efforts for salvation, to immediate exertion and de- 
cision, showing you, that your feet stand in slippeiy places 
and in due time shall slide, that God is angry with you every 
moment, that all his glorious attributes are, as it were, armed 
against you, except his tender compassion, which yet waits 
for the result of one entreaty more, that now is the accepted 
time, and that soon he will rouse his wrath and swear, ye 
shall not enter into his rest. Yet under all this urgency of 
^he Spirit's calling and knocking, you cherish merely a fitful, 



OF RESISTING THE HOLY SPIRIT, 147 

changeable interest, and thus do you constantly resist the 
Holy Ghost." 

But would the glorijSed martyr have any thing to say to 
the stupid and thoughtless sinner? O ! with a terrible em- 
phasis, he might apply to such an one the guilt charged on 
the Jews in his holy fidelity. "You do daily resist the 
Holy Ghost, for you disregard the Bible ; you reject Christ ; 
you slight and silence the admonitions of conscience ; and 
you do this, under circumstances which render your resist- 
ance more guilty than it otherwise might be. You do it, 
where the voice of warning is loudly uttered, and you close 
your ears ; where the table of Christ is spread before you, and 
you turn your back upon it ; where the messengers of Christ 
come out and beseech you to enter while there is room, 
and you almost laugh them to scorn : thus, thoughtless sin- 
ner, have you long resisted the Holy Spirit, and thus you still 
resist." 



SERMON IV. 

THE CHARACTER OF GOD THE CHRISTIAN 

STANDARD OF EXCELLENCE. 



BE YE THEREFORE PERFECT, EVEN AS TOUR FATHER WHICH 13 

IN HEAVEN IS PERFECT, — Matthcw, 5 : 48- 

This precept is taken from the sermon of Christ on the 
Mount. "Ye have heard," says he, " that it hath been said, 
Thou shalt love thy neighbor and hate thine enemy. But I 
say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, 
do good to them that hate you, and pray for them that de- 
spitefully use you ; that ye may be the children of your Fa- 
ther which is in heaven : for he maketh his sun to rise on 
the evil and on the good, and sendeth his rain on the just 
and the unjust. For if ye love them which love you, what 
reward have ye ? And if ye salute your brethren only, 
what do ye more than others. Be ye therefore perfect, even 
as your Father which is in heaven, is perfect." The connec- 
tion of the passage which I have now recited, shows the par- 
ticular object, that Christ had in view in the precept before 
us. It was to enforce the duty of cherishing a benevolence 
which should extend to all our fellow men, to our enemies 
as well as our friends. He presents God as the pattern and 
standard, by which our conduct should be regulated in this 



CHARACTER OF GOD, ETC. 149 

particular. ''Your Father in heaven," says the Savior, 
" manifests to all men, both to his friends and his enemies, a 
benevolent regard. Do you imitate him. Like him be mer- 
ciful, be kind, be forgiving to your enemies." To inculcate 
this duty was the special object of Christ. But his lan- 
guage, in the text and context, involves a grand principle, to 
which I wish to invite your attention in the present dis- 
course. It is a principle of primary importance in the chris- 
tian religion, and in reflecting upon it, our attention will 
not be wasted upon a subject of mere speculation, 

To exhibit this principle, and then present a few reflec- 
tions, will complete my purpose. 

What then is the principle involved in the text ? It is 
briefly this : God is the christian standard of moral excel- 
lence. That the passage, which has been repeated at large, 
involves this principle, is sufliciently obvious without any 
farther remarks. I shall proceed therefore to limit and ex- 
plain the principle. 

It is not meant that the same degree, the same intensity of 
holy emotion, that exists in the divine mind, is to be required 
of men. This would not be true- It is in fact impossible. 
The spirits of the just made perfect in heaven are filled with 
holy emotions. Amid all their hosts there is not one sinful 
feeling ; their whole existence is an unmingled flow of pu- 
rest rapture. But their most intense affections cannot equal 
in degree the holiness of God. Paul is holy, and while 
ages are rolling away, Paul may find his holy emotions 
swelling higher and higher ; they may kindle with brighter 
flames, burn with deeper and deeper intensity ; yet after 
ages have rolled away, it is only the holiness of Paul, a finite 
creature. But God is infinitely holy. The command, be 
ye perfect as your father in heaven is perfect, is to be un- 
derstood, says the devout and excellent Bates, " not of an 
equality, but a resemblance. There is a greater dispropor- 



150 CHARACTER OF GOD THE 

tion between the holiness of God and the unspotted holiness 
of even the angels, than between the celerity of the motion 
of the sun in the heavens, and the slow motion of the shadow 
upon the dial." 

When it is said, that God is the standard of moral excel- 
lence, it is not meant, that in every particular case, the moral 
feelings of men must agree with those of God. This would 
overlook the diiference between the Creator and his crea- 
tures, as to physical attributes. Those attributes may mod- 
ify the moral feelings of God. Take his omniscience. This 
perfection must, as a matter of course, make the feelings of 
God, in reference to many subjects, differ from those of the 
best men. In reference to events in the moral world, God 
judges in view of all their relations, while men judge in view 
of only a part. In reference to human character, God looks 
on the heart, while men look only on the outward appearance. 
And so a man may be an object of God's utter abhorence, 
and yet be esteemed and beloved by holy men. There may 
be in a christian church an impenitent professor of religion, 
who exhibits externally the various marks of a real Chris- 
tian, who wears all the outward loveliness of true piety. 
Towards this man, his brethren are bound to cherish all the 
feelings of christian affection. But in this man, God has no 
complacency. 

But when I say, that God is the Christian standard of ex- 
cellence, it is meant, that the character of God is the great 
pattern to wJdch the gospel requires us to he conformed, and 
furnishes the rule by which our character is to he estimated' 

It is the great pattern to which the gospel requires us to 
be conformed. " As he who hath called you is holy," says 
Peter, " so be ye holy in all manner of conversation, because 
it is written, be ye holy, for I am holy," (1st Peter 1 : 15). 
Here the apostle presents the character of God, as the mod- 
el for our imitation. We are to cultivate all those excellen- 



CHRISTIAN STANDARD OF EXCELLENCE. 151 

cies, which are combined in their highest degree and in a 
most splendid union in the holiness of God. These excel- 
lencies constitute that glory, upon which we are to look, till 
we are changad into the same image by the Spirit of the 
Lord. It is in this way, that Christians are enabled to 
" put on the new man, who after God is created in righteous- 
ness and true holiness." In his original state, man possessed 
this image of the divine perfection, which it is the grand ob- 
ject of the gospel to restore, and which is emphatically called 
a new creation. Before his apostacy, the character of man 
corresponded to the divine character. He was holy as God 
is holy. This correspondence is what the gospel now re- 
quires ; and the gospel every where holds out the purity of 
Jehovah as the model, which the Christian must imitate, 
the pattern which he must copy. Does God take delight 
in the exhibition of his own infinite perfections, for instance, 
his justice and his mercy ? Then the Christian must find 
delight in this exhibition. 

Does God abhor every violation of his holy law ? Is the 
least sin an abomination in his sight ? Then must the 
Christian loathe sin in all its shapes, whether in himself or 
in others. Does God rejoice in the moral improvement of 
his creatures ? Does it gratify his holy nature, when they 
turn from sin to obedience, when they advance in purity and 
virtue, when they strive for the stature of perfect persons in 
Christ Jesus ? Then the Christian must rejoice, when his 
fellow men renounce the world and the flesh, and press to- 
ward the mark for the prize of a heavenly calling. 

Does God always desire the happiness of his creatures ? 
Then must the Christian also be benevolent. And is God 
merciful to his enemies ? Such then the Christian must be. 
" I say unto you, love your enemies, bless them that curse 
you, do good to them that hate you, that ye may be the 
children of your father, who is in heaven." " Be ye perfect 



152 CHARACTER OF GOD THE 

even as your Father who is in heaven is perfect." The mor- 
al character of God is then the pattern, to which the gospel 
requires us to be conformed. 

It also furnishes the rule by which our character is to be 
estimated. If the gospel requires us to be conformed to the 
divine character, then, of course, it presents the divine char- 
acter as the rule, by which we must judge of our own. This 
is repeatedly recognised in the Bible as the test, by which a 
man must try his goodness. It is recognized by Job; in 
view of the moral perfections of God, he exclaims : " now 
mine eye seeth thee ; wherefore I abhor myself." It is recog- 
nized by Isaiah ; when he saw the Lord sitting on the 
throne, and his train filling the temple, he cried out, " Woe 
is me ; because I am a man of unclean lips." The Psalmist 
and the Apostles often refer to this test. Indeed the scrip- 
tures make it, if I may use the expression, the touchstone 
of the soul. And it is infallible. No test of the chemist can 
detect so certainly and so invariably the presence of alloy 
in his metals, as this will detect the least alloy of character, 
the least moral blemish. And it is the only infallible test. 
By this therefore we must repeatedly try our attainments, if 
we would rise to our proper height in the scale of moral el- 
evation, if we would cultivate to their full extent the capac- 
ities which God has given us, if we would bring ourselves to 
the perfection which the gospel requires. And if we employ 
this test with frequency and fidelity, we shall find ourselves 
in a career of unceasing improvement ; and we shall not 
soon arrive at any point, where we shall be satisfied to re- 
main stationary. For the Father of our spirits, by whose 
character we scrutinize our own, is a being of splendid and 
unsullied purity ; and a complete likeness to him can be se- 
cured only by a life of untiring and devoted imitation, and 
will be obtained only when we are permitted to behold him 
as he is, to look upon him, face to face, in the mansions of 
his glory. 



CHRISTIAN STANDARD OF EXCELLENCE. 153 

The way is now prepared for those reflections, wliich 
were to constitute the remainder of ray discourse. 

1. We are reminded of the superiority of the gospel to 
all other systems of religion and morality. 

The gospel reveals the character of God in its transcen* 
dent splendors, and calls on the reader to consider and ad* 
mire, and imitate. It does more. It presents us with a liv^ 
ing character, which proves that the imitation is possible? 
and which shows what its results would be among men. In 
the Lord Jesus Christ, there was a full exemplification of 
what the text presents as the great practical principle of the 
gospel. He was holy, as Qod is holy. He was perfect, even 
as the Father is perfect. The gospel then gives us an ex- 
alted principle of morality, in making God the standard of 
excellence, and also exhibits the influence of this principle 
in an individual, whose footsteps we need not hesitate to fol- 
low. But no human system has presented a principle so ex- 
alted ; and those systems, which have presented the best 
principles, have given them merely as abstract rules, with- 
out being able to find in actual life an individual instance of 
conformity even to their imperfect standards, a single in- 
stance, which could be held out as a safe and perfect exam- 
ple. And just compare the characterformed upon these sys- 
tems with the character formed upon the christian system. 
Let a man gather all the good precepts which he can find in 
Plato or Seneca or Epictetus, let him search all other sys- 
tems ancient and modern, let him collect all the fine rules of 
morality, which have been framed, let him pay to these rules 
and precepts a rigid and daily observance ; and after all 
what is he ? Let another man be imbued with the princi- 
ples of tbe gospel — let him feel that the character of God is 
his standard, and that Christ is his exemplar ; and how dif- 
ferent is this man from the former ! But such a comparison 
would not exhibit sufficiently the superiority of the gospel 

14 



154 CHARACTER OF GOD THE 

over 'pagan religion. For paganism, instead of presenting 
to its votaries, as the gospel does to the believer, a being of 
infinite purity and excellence, presents to them beings, who 
possess and manifest the vilest passions of men ; presents to 
them gods and goddesses, whose history is a tale of revenge 
and lust, which decency would blush to hear. If such be 
the god, what must be the worshipper ? But to pursue this 
reflection would draw me from my principal object. Let 
me pass to another. 

2. We are reminded of the proneness of men to esti- 
mate themselves by wrong standards. 

All men acknowledge some standard of right and of duty ; 
but in their view of what is right, and what is duty, they 
constantly differ ; and in their estimation of their own char- 
acter they are almost always misled. One great reason 
is, they forget the true and proper standard of character, 
and this being forgotten, other standards are adopted, which 
vary with times, places and circumstances. 

There is the standard which results from the law of the 
land. This may be to some the highest measure of duty. 
And if they can say, they have regarded the injunctions of 
this law, they have cheerfully submitted to all the restraints 
of the civil power, and have even contributed their property 
and their services for its support, they will cherish the com- 
placency of a man who has done the whole of his duty. 
They have kept the laws of the land, and that is enough. 

There is the standard of honor. And the man who makes 
this his measure of right, will often look with proud contempt 
upon the man, who guides himself by the requisitions and the 
restrictions of the civil law. The man of honor will feel 
himself bound to refrain from many an action, for which the 
magistrate will not punish or reprove him, and at the same 
time, and from the same principle, he will violate the best 
laws of his country, and set at defiance all their sanctions. 



CHRISTIAN STANDARD OF EXCELLENCE. 155 

And if this mnn can only say that he has ever regarded the 
laws of honor, has never descended to meanness, has never 
been afraid of danger, and never submitted to an insult, he 
will cherish also the complacency of a man who has done all 
that duty commands. 

There is the standard of rigid morality. And the man 
who governs himself by this rule, will shrink from many 
things, which are not offences against the laws of the land 
or the laws of honor. But if this man can say that he has 
maintained a strict morality, has preserved from his youth 
up an unsullied integrity of outward life, he too will cherish 
all the complacency of a man, who has done every thing, 
which he ought to do. 

There is again the standard of formal religion. And there 
are multitudes who consider this the highest measure of duty. 
These men will be loud in their censures even of the mor- 
alist. His neglect of the ceremonies of religion, they view 
as a gross and stubborn impiety. But as to themselves, if 
they have scrupulously followed the directions of their rit- 
ual — if they have regularly kept their new moons and their 
fastings, and paid their tithes of mint and anise and 
cummin, although they may have neglected many weightier 
matters of duty, these men, like the other classes of whom I 
have spoken, will feel the full complacency of one, who has 
done all, that is required. 

Now all these standards are wrong. They are not the 
rules, by which men are to estimate their character ; and the 
complacency which a man may feel v.iienhe tries himself by 
such tests, is nothing but a delusion, a delusion which be- 
lieves lies, and which must lead to fatal results. Bring this 
complacency to the test of the gospel, and examine the char- 
acter, which creates it, by the standard developed in our 
text, he ye perfect, as your Father in Heaven is 2}erfect ; and 
what becomes of all that excellence, with which the man 



156 CHARACTER OF GOD THE 

was so satisfied ? He thought himself rich, and increased 
in goods, and in need of nothing ; but he finds himself poor, 
and naked, and wretched. • 

But the deepest and most fatal delusion, and the delusion 
which is also by far the most common, is yet to be mention- 
ed. I mean that which results from receiving y<2s/^*07z, or 
•prevailing custom, as a standard of character. Wherever 
you go, you will find this delusion. Men judge of their 
own attainments, by the average of attainments around 
them. To use the language of the apostle, " they measure 
themselves by themselves, and compare themselves among 
themselves." This is the source of that vanity, which 
superiority in the most trifling respect is sufficient to awaken 
in the human mind. Enter the city or the village. You 
will find in this street a man, v/hose wealth enables him to 
outshine his neighbors. Look into the heart of that man, 
and you will most probably detect there a triumphant satis- 
faction in his elevation above those around him. In another 
street, you may find a man, "svliose knowledge exceeds the 
common measure of acquisitions in the village circle. That 
man, 3'^ou will perceive, is apt to talk with the airs and the 
confidence of a self-satisfied superiority. Were this ten- 
dency and habit confined to the distinctions of wealth, or 
beauty^ or learning, then, although it must often be ridicu- 
lous, it might indeed be less fatal. 

But, as I have before said, it is extended to our estima- 
tions of moral and religious character. There is -a common 
level, with reference to which every man is apt to judge 
himself and to be judged by others. If he falls much 
below this level, he will pass upon himself and will receive 
from others a sentence of condemnation and disgrace. If 
he rises above it, he will pass on himself and will expect 
from others a sentence of applause. And with this he is 
satisfied. His virtuous qualities^ his moral habUsj his re- 



CHRISTIAN STANDARD OF EXCELLENCE. 157 

ligious attainments, are superior to those of his associates in 
life, and he mistakes this superiority for something like an 
absolute and perfect excellence. Now this is follj, and it 
is a disregard of the only true standard of character. It is 
folly. Those who compare themselves among themselves 
are not wise. For the man, who in one society takes the 
palm, who stands forth there in all the pride and all the 
honor of a complete and acknowledged preeminence, may 
in another society, find himself possessing only the attain- 
ments to which the great mass have arrived ; may even be 
exposed to the charge of manifest and gross deficiency. In 
the one society, he may be greeted with the welcomes and 
good wishes of a hearty affection ; in the other society, he 
may be an object of disgust or of hatred. The principle, of 
which I am speaking, operates among the most abandoned 
men. You may mingle with a set of unprincipled gamblers, 
you may go among the occupants of our jails and prison-hou- 
ses, you may visit the hellish crew of a pirate ship, and you 
will find this mode of estimating character established among 
these men, as well as among the more refined and more mor- 
al classes. You will see, that even, in such communities, as 
elsewhere, honor is ascribed to one and reproach affixed to 
another in relation to that average of character, which forms 
the Cjmra.on standard. It is folly, then, for a man to estimate 
his moral character upon a principle of this sort, because it 
is a principle, which, in many cases, will give the honor of 
preeminent worth to the man, who is deservedly an outcast 
from all decent and tolerable society. 

Besides this, it is a contemptuous disregard of the standard, 
which the gospel has established. God has indeed command- 
ed us to be more moral and more virtuous, than wicked 
men around us. He has said, that if we would see the king- 
dom of heaven, our righteousness must exceed the righteous- 
ness of the Scribes and Pharisees. But he has not said, that 

14* 



158 CHARACTER OF GOD THE 

if we can point out in our character a few items of superior- 
ity, if our own deceitful hearts and our partial friends tell 
us that we stand some degrees above the moral rank of an 
evil and adulterous generation, God has not said, that in such 
a case, we may be satisfied, and may believe ourselves near 
to the kingdom of heaven. He has explained to us in what 
sense we must be superior, in what degree we must stand 
above the level of a current morality. ^ " Be perfect, as your 
Father in heaven is perfect." Compare yourselves, not with 
the world, not with sinners of any description, not with men, 
but with the God of heaven. 

And how, my friends, will our excellence appear, when 
placed by the side of divine purity ? How will our goodness 
look, if we behold at the same time the goodness of God ? 
Compare it with the attainments of our friends, measure it 
by the standard of our age, judge of it by the level of moral 
character around us ; and it may appear well, and possibly 
we may secure the applause of manifest superiority. But 
shall we be satisfied with this ? Let us come to be tried at 
the sanctuary. Let us compare ourselves with the charac- 
ter of God as it is exhibited in the divine law. The man, 
who will do this, will lose his self satisfaction ; his confidence 
will be dashed, and he will be compelled to say before his 
Maker, " if I wash myself with snow water, and make my 
hands never so clean, yet shalt thou plunge me in the ditch, 
and mine own clothes shall abhor me," (Job, 9 : 30-33). 
He will understand, why the Apostle exclaimed to the Son 
of God, " Depart from me, O Lord, for I am a sinful man ;'' 
and why the Prophet cried out in view of the divine glory, 
" Woe is me ! I am undone, for I am a man of unclean lips." 
And he will be led, there may be reason to hope, to 
implore the influences of that Spirit, who alone can re- 
enstarap upon his soul the image of God. 

3. We are reminded by our subject, of the deficiencies 
of Christians, 



CHRISRIAN STANDARD OF EXCELLENCE. 159 

Christians profess to have renounced ever/ false standard 
and to have received the standard of the gospel. They 
have voluntarily taken upon themselves vows to be holy as 
God is holy, to be perfect as he is perfect. These vows, 
they are under solemn obligations to keep. And so long as a 
sinful action mars the consistency of their conduct, or a sin- 
ful emotion stains the purity of their hearts, they fall shol't 
of their duty, and of their promises ; in the records of impar- 
tial justice, they must stand charged with a deficiency. 
Christians may plead the imperfections of their nature, and 
the strength of temptation, but, my brethren, will either of 
these be an excuse ? They may indeed account for the defi- 
ciencies and the sins of Christians. But when guilt is ac- 
counted for, does it cease to be guilt? When we have told, 
how it happened, that a man committed a sin, does the action 
cease to be sinful ? Let me not be misunderstood here. I 
am not saying that there lives or will live a righteous man, 
who sinneth not, nor maintaining anything which leads at all 
to the doctrine of sinless perfection. I tremble for the fate 
of that man, who imagines, he has arrived at such a point in 
his christian attainments, that he does not sin, who imagines 
that his whole conduct and character are the objects of entire 
approbation before his God and Savior. Yes, I tremble for 
him. He is a deluded man. He has wrong views of the 
character and the law of God, or he has perverted the grace 
of the gospel. The gospel was not intended to lower the 
standard of human conduct, or lessen the strictness of God's 
law. Sin against all the light and motives of the gospel may 
indeed be more aggravated than it could have been under 
the old dispensation, or under any dispensation, purely le- 
gal ; but that which was sin, before the gospel came, is sin 
still, and will be sin forever. When the Christian possesses 
the -purity, which Adam possessed before the fall, then, and 
not till then, has he attained to sinless perfection. But 



160 CHARACTER OF GOD THE 

while a caution is thus offered against a most gross and dan- 
gerous mistake, against a false and pernicious doctrine, I 
would excite Christians to consider their obligations and their 
deficiencies, and warn them against excusing these defi- 
ciencies on a plea of imperfection and weakness. 

Mj brethren, the christian standard of excellence has 
been exhibited before you to day. You all feel a conviction 
that it must bring against you a loud and unanswerable 
charge of guilt. Your own hearts condemn you. But God 
is greater ; he knoweth all things. In your own view, your 
misdoings and failures Wear the aspect of foul and hateful 
turpitude. But in the eye of God, who considers them in 
all their various and distant relations, they wear an aspect 
unspeakably fouler and blacker. Let me then affectionate- 
ly call you to repentance. Let me ask you to contemplate 
the great pattern which you are to imitate, and urge you to 
the imperious duty of bringing your character, from day to 
day, to the test, which is presented in the gospel. Try 
yourselves by the true ordeal. Weigh yourselves in the 
balances of the sanctuary. Be not satisfied with a piety 
that seems to be as fervid as the piety of your brethren, and 
an orthodoxy that is as sound as their orthodoxy. In such 
a case, you incur the guilt which has been charged upon 
those who estimate themselves by a false standard. You 
commit the folly of comparing yourselves among yourselves, 
and commit the sin of disregarding the command of your Sa- 
vior, who requires you to judge yourselves by the purity of 
God. Oh, my brethren, this is a shame to the ciiristian 
profession. Here is a disciple of Christ, and he is satisfied 
with his own character, because he comes up to the mark of 
the piety and orthodoxy of his church. Instead of feeling, 
how distant he is from the purity of his Master, and mourn- 
ing because that distance is so great, and striving with all 
diligence, by prayer, and watchfulness, ^nd every christian 



CHRISTIAN STANDARD OF EXCELLENCE. 161 

exertion, to render the distance less, — instead of this, he is 
contented to remain where he is, and so he lies still, year af- 
ter year, in the same state of unholy stupor. My brethren, 
is not this a shame to the christian profession ? And would 
it not be an act of deserved justice, if his Saviour should 
suffer him to be thus, till the last breath of his piety should 
have expired, till he should experience the righteous effects 
of his negligence in the absolute and eternal* loss of his spir- 
itual life? Indeed, he ought to expect such a consequence. 
The Christian, who yields to this torpor of the soul, is in a 
more fatal exposure than the freezing man, who sits down ^to 
sleep on the snow. The next day's traveler will find that 
sleeper a corpse. 

Again, let me urge you, my brethren, to contemplate the 
pattern, which you are to imitate, and try your character by 
the test presented in the gospel. Do this and you will not 
be satisfied with present attainments, you will not indulge 
the risings of spiritual pride Do this, and you will not sub- 
stitute one part of the christian character for another. 
There was no such substitution in the example of Christ. 
Do this, and you will not imagine, that to cherish one vir- 
tuous emotion will atone for banishing another, that to be 
charitable will give a license to be proud- Christ, who, 
as I have before said, illustrated in his life the principle 
which has been urged all along in my discourse — Christ, 
who has left an example, that v;e should Avalk in his steps, 
cherished every holy affection ; he possessed every moral 
grace, he thought and felt and acted upon the rule of 
a joe^yec^ purity. No emotion of sin polluted the sanctuary 
of his bosom ; it was filled with the peace and the holiness 
of heaven. My brethren, we must be like him, ''If any 
man hath nottlie spirit of Christ, he is none of his " "Be 
ye therefore perfect, even as your Father, who is in heaven, 
is perfect." 



SERMON V. 

IRRELIGION NOT OWING TO WANT OF 
EVIDENCE. 



Nat, Father Abraham, but if one went unto them from 

THE DEAD. THEY WOULD REPENT. AnD HE SAID UNTO HIM, 

If they hear not Mosks and the Prophets, neither will 
they be persuaded, though one rose from the dead. 

Luke, 16:30, 31. 

If the lost spirit could be permitted to leave awhile his 
wretched abode, and warn surviving friends that they might 
not go to the same place of torment ; or if one of the spirits 
of the just should suspend his delightful song in heaven ^ 
and come and invite friends on earth to the celestial city, 
we might naturally suppose, that it could not be in vain ; 
that such an event would be heeded by sinners, and that a 
visit from a departed spirit would secure their repentance. 

But it seems, this is a mistake ; and our Savior, aware 
that men might fall into it, has taken care to point it out, 
apd guard us against it in the parable, from which the text 
is taken. He expressly declares, in the text, that the return 
of a departed spirit would not secure the repentance and 
faith of such persons as were not induced to believe and 
repent by the instructions of Moses and the Prophets. If 
the coming of one from the dead would not effectually in- 



IRRELIGION NOT OWING, ETC 163 

fluence the sinner that had enjoyed and disregarded these 
instructions, would such an event bring to repentance the 
sinner that enjoys and disregards the light and privileges of 
the gospel ? It would seem, that the probability must be 
far less in the latter than in the former case- The sending 
of Lazarus to warn the surviving kindred of Dives, would 
have been wholly ineffectual, as they had already been ad- 
monished by Moses and the Prophets. Equally ineffectual 
would it now be, to send a messenger from the dead to warn 
the sinner already admonished by the gospel of Christ. 
Some of the reasons, why it would be thus ineffectual, are 
obvious. 

In the first place, the sinner thus luarned could hardly he 
sure that the event had really happened. 

Let us waive all discussion as to the mode, in which a 
deceased mortal might revisit this world, and be manifested 
to sinners ; let us admit that it might truly be done. Sup- 
pose then, that a spirit may some how appear to us mortals 
in a sort of shadow addressed to the eye, and even a sort of 
voice addressed to the ear, and that an impenitent sinner 
actually witnesses such an appearance or apparition. How 
can he feel sure, that he has really enjoyed intercourse with 
a messenger from eternity ? The spirit is soon gone. The 
sinner then sees nothing. He hears nothing. And did he 
really see any thing or hear any thing ? Was it not an 
illusion ? Was he not dreaming ? If it really was a spirit, 
will not that spirit return ? If God did actually send a 
spirit to warn me, will he not at least send one more, and 
thus make it plainer still? Such are the thoughts which 
will inevitably arise, when the man reflects ; his mind will 
not be satisfied ; soon, probably, his doubts and unbelief will 
predominate, and when the agitations of the moment are 
past, the sinner will be found still impenitent. 

But let the sinner be perfectly sure that the event had 



164 IRRELIGION NOT OWING 

happened ; suppose that he had seen the hody of his 
deceased friend rise out of the tomb, that he had pressed 
the very hand, which a few weeks ago felt cold as he touched 
it in the hour of death, that he had heard the story of a 
heaven and hell from the very tongue, to catch whose falter- 
ing accents he had lately put his ear to the lips of the dy- 
ing man ; suppose all this, and still the return of a departed 
mortal would not be certain to secure the repentance of the 
sinner. It v/ould not, because. 

In. the second 'place, such an event would furnish no new 
motives to repentance. Let us consider this, with particular 
attention. 

The man from the dead could furnish 7io neiv proof of a 
future life and retribution. What is the evidence, which he 
couid furnish as to this point ? Simply that of testimony, 
testimony given us by another person, that there is such a 
state, and that he has witnessed it. But we have such tes- 
timony often repeated in the Bible. "We have already the 
same kind of evidence, and we have it in a greater degree. 
There is the testimony of Paul, who was caught up to the 
third heavens. There is the testimony of John, who saw 
the beast and the false prophet cast into the lake of fire, to be 
tormented day and night forever ; who also heard the new 
song, " Worthy art thou, for thou wast slain and hast redeem- 
ed us unto God by thy blood," There is the testimony of 
Jesus Christ, who originally came forth from heaven, and 
who rose from the dead to give a decided and unanswerable 
proof of a life beyond the grave. We may add, there is 
the testimony of the eternal Spirit of God, accompanied by 
miracles bearing the unquestionable seal and stamp of 
Deity. What new evidence, then, will the testimony of a 
neighbor or companion afford ? If a man will not believe 
Paul, nor Christ, nor God himself, will he believe any testi- 
mony .? Will he be convinced by any evidence ? At the 



TO WANT OF EVIDENCE. 165 

Savior's crucifixion, " the graves were opened, and many 
bodies of the saints arose and came outof the graves, and went 
into the holy city and appeared unto many ;" and yet, so far 
as we know, this amazing event did not convince a single 
individual of those who had previously denied a future 
resurrection. 

Again, a man from the dead could give no neiv appreheii'- 
sion of the joys or miseries of the future state- Some par- 
ticulars, which are matters of curiosity, might perhaps be 
ascertained from such a messenger. But it is not in the 
power of signs to convey higher conceptions respecting the 
felicity and the woe of the future world, than are conveyed 
by the language of the Bible. The most significant and 
affecting imagery, that this material world can afford, is 
employed by the sacred writers. It is only by similar ima- 
gery, that the man from the dead could give us any notions 
of the intensity of this happiness and misery. He could 
not take the keys of heaven and hell and open to our actual 
view those invisible worlds ; he could not lead us through 
the streets of the city above, and show us the throne and 
Him that sitteth thereon, and the ten times ten thousand 
and thousands of thousands that surround it ; he could 
not take us to the prison-house of infinite justice, and 
cause us to icitness its anguish, and hear its blasphemies, 
and/eeHts darkness; he could only describe. But the 
Bible describes, and could the Spirit from the dead describe 
with more clearness or force or persuasive power than the 
Bible ? If a man is not moved by the representations of 
bv-aven and hell given in the Bible, will he be moved by 
any exhibition of them, which could possibly be made in 
human language ? 

A man from the dead could communicate no netu i7npres- 
sions as to the holiness and infiexihle justice of God. He 
might assure us, that God is infinitely pure ; that the 

15 



Ibb lERELIGION NOT OWING 

heavens are not clean in his sight ; that he will infallibly 
punish the wicked. But the Bible has told us all tliis» 
Possibly the inhabitants of some other planet or world be- 
sides our own^may be, like ourselves, a race of daring rebels 
against God, and may be at this moment, not like us enjoy- 
ing a season of probation, with offers of pardon and salva- 
tion, but actually suffering a tremendous and irremediable 
punishment ; let it be supposed, a punishment compared 
with which, hsll itself might be accounted a tender mercy ; 
and let the man from the dead inform us of that awful fact. 
He would thereby only add one instance of the manifested 
holiness of God to many instances which we already know ; 
and should we be deeply impressed by such an instance, if 
we are not by the cases actually presented in the Bible ? 
The Bible tells us of Sodom destroyed by fire from heaven ; 
of the old ivorld overwhelmed in a deluge ; of the angels 
who kept not their first estate, reserved in everlasting 
chains under darkness to the judgment of the great day. 
Could the story of any possible woe, inflicted upon a whole 
world or a Mdiole universe of worlds, impress ns with the 
divine holiness more deeply, than the simple story of the 
Bible respecting Christ's atoning death. The infinite, all- 
glorious Son of God crucified ! How awful the demands of 
justice, since it was only by his unparalleled sacrifice, that 
they could be relaxed in the least towards a single trans- 
gressor of the law ! It was only by the setting forth before 
his creatures of this amazing propitiation, that God could 
exercise his mercy, and forgive the sinner without renounc- 
ing his justice and tarnishing his holiness. It is through 
the blood of the Immaculate Lamb, that the Father can be 
just and yet justify him that believeth. If we should be-- 
hold the entire posterity of Adam whelmed in one common 
destruction, or the whole existing universe plunged in one 
eternal fire on account of sin, even such a scene could not 



TO WANT OF EVIDENCE. 167 

display the holiness and justice of God more clearly than 
they shine from the cross of Christ. 

A man from the dead could make no new manifestation of 
the love of Christ or the hatefalness of sin. What could 
he show the impenitent man, as to the odiousness of sin ? 
He mio;ht indeed tell him of the horrors of that second 
deatli, which completes the wages of sin ; but this would not 
exhibit in a new or more pungent manner the turpitude of 
its nature, its deep demerit, and baseness and vileness. Only 
when a man looks at his sin in its relation to his God and 
Savior, does he perceive at all its real turpitude. When he 
sees, that he has rebelled against a most affectionate father, 
has been ungrateful to a most liberal benefactor, has cruci- 
fied a most glorious Savior ; when he sees, how his sins in 
their tendencies threaten complete overthrow to the author- 
ity of God, and utter desolation to God's whole moral 
kingdom ; when a man sees that the natural results of every 
sin, if unchecked, must be to reduce the creation of God to 
a general chaos, darker and more dreadful than a universal 
death-shade ; it is ivhen and only ivhen the sinner has such 
views, that he has any right views of the guilt and turpitude 
of his transgressions. Such views, the Bible is calculated 
to give him. What could a spirit from the dead say or do 
to give him deeper or more affecting views ? 

Neither could a spirit from the dead exhibit to the sinner 
any more affecting proof of the love and compassion of 
Christ. Is there a man who imagines that a greater proof, 
than Christ himself has given, is possible ? Suppose a mes- 
senger, directly from the throne of the Lamb, should ad- 
dress him, would the sinner find in such an address any 
greater exhibition or proof of the love of Christ than the 
Bible furnishes ? What more, what better could that mes- 
senger do than tell the story of redeeming love just as the 
Bible tells it ? We cannot describe the love of Christ. 



168 IRKELTGION NOT OWING- 

But we can tliink of it. OIi ! that we could feel it. Think 
then of this love, Paul could not describe it. No tongue, 
no language is adequate. Words are all but emptiness and 
nothingness on such a theme ; the terrible sweat and agony 
in the garden, the cross, the crown of thorns, the nails, the 
spear, the blood and water streaming from his pierced side, 
these are the language, these the signs by which a Savior's 
love is made known to our conscience and our heart. 
Should all the renowned orators, that have been gathered 
to the congregation o'f the dead, be roused from the graves 
and be sent back and make their mightiest efforts in setting 
forth the love of Jesus, could they go beyond the simple 
tale of Gethsemane and Calvary ? Should Gabriel come 
down to pour on the sinner's ear an Archangel's highest 
strain, could he rise above the awful signs and thrilling won- 
ders of the manger, the garden and the cross ? 

I have now mentioned some of the ]3rincipal motives to 
repentance, and it appears, that if one should come unto us 
from the dead, he could add nothing to their force. 

But the argument is not quite exhausted ; for even if the 
spirit from the dead could present a host of new and more 
powerful motives, his visits might still be in vain ; such vis- 
its would not be certain to bring any sinner to repentance, 
because, 

In the 3d place, the sinner has hardened his heart so much 
hy resisting the motives 'presented in the Bible, that he is pre- 
pared to resist still higher and more poiverfid motives, where- 
ever and however such motives are presented. 

This is the truth affirmed by Christ. " If they hear not 
Moses and the Prophets, neither will they be persuaded, 
though one rose from the dead." They have resisted so 
many motives, and so aifecting motives, that they will resist 
any others and all others. They have often been reproved, 
but they have only hardened their necks. Effort after effort 



TO WANT OF EVIDENCE. 169 

has been made to induce them to repent ; but they have on- 
ly become more stupid and fixed and immovable in their im- 
penitence. Every new and more powerful motive has only 
summoned up in their souls a new and more vigorous op- 
position- Thus they have gained a terrible ability to repel 
and frustrate every attempt to move their will or rouse 
their conscience. God, in tender mercy, has thrown up in 
their path barrier after barrier to obstruct their eager de- 
scent to hell ; but they have thrust them all aside, or have 
leajDed over them, and rushed on in their fatal and guilty 
course. And now what barrier, what obstacle, what hin- 
drance, will they not spurn as before? There is a fearful 
acceleration in the descent of the sinner to the place where 
his worm dieth not The body, that falls towards the 
earth, gains, at every degree of its descent, a marked in- 
crease of its downward tendency : but yet it may be stop- 
ped by opposing to it a corresponding increase of resistance. 
It is far worse with the downward rush of the sinner ; its ra- 
pidity is every moment increased ; and each additional step 
of descent places him not merely where a corresponding 
increase of force is requisite to stop him, but where it is 
more likely than ever before, that he will bear down any 
amount of resistance that can possibly be thrown in his 
way. The sinner, that is not arrested in his career by the 
truths of the Bible, will be arrested by nothing. He that 
has resisted the motives, which the Bible concentrates upon 
him from three worlds, is prepared to resist all possible mo- 
tives. Such a sinner's conscience is enclosed, as it were, in 
a coat of triple steel and scales of adamant. No spirit from 
the dead can reach it. How true to nature and fact are 
those pungent words of Milton I 

"To convince the proud what signs avail 1 
"What wonders move the obdurate to relent 1 
Hardened most by what might most reclaim." 

15* 



170 IRRELiaiON NOT OWING 

The first reflection, which this subject reminds us to make 
is, that neither wa7it of evidence, nor want of outward mo- 
tives is the difficulty that hinders repentance. The difficul- 
ty is not ivithout, but within. It lies in the mind of the sin- 
ner himself. Were it not for this difficidty within, he would 
repent under the faintest light of revelation ; were it not for 
this, he would hear Moses and the Prophets ; he would re- 
gard Christ and the Apostles. But this difficulty existing, 
the brightest light of heaven is ineffectual ; Moses and the 
Prophets warn in vain ; in vain the Savior shows liis bleed- 
ing side and pierced hands ; Apostles and ministers in vain 
beseech the sinner to be reconciled to God. The sole diffi- 
culty is an abiding preference of creature good ; there is a 
natural, constant, but almost unconscious choice, which fixes 
and perpetuates the disposition. This permanent choice or 
preference is an expression or exhibition of the heart of the 
sinner, and shows it to be the carnal heart. " The carnal 
mind is emnity against God, not subject to his law, neither 
indeed can be." Here is the hindrance, outward motives will 
never remove it. We may gather motives, as we do, from 
heaven, earth and hell, and urge them upon the heart which 
is enmity against God ; but they have no force such as to 
change it ; and we effect as little as to plough upon adamant. 
The carnal heart still remains emnity against God. After 
all our appliances it stands as unaltered, as the primeval rock 
amid the ever dashing surges. 

The subject suggests a second reflection, which is one of 
fearful interest to every person in this assembly. It is this. 
There is but one real and solid ground of hope, that any gos- 
pel sinner, now impenitent, will escape the damnation of hell. 
And does any one wish to ask : what is that only ground, on 
which there is hope for me ? 

Permit me to say, then, it is not, that your parents were pi- 
ous and you have received a religious education. You may die 



TO "WANT OF EVIDENCE. 171 

impenitent, notwithstanding this. A distressed father, once 
standing bj the bed-side of his dying son, asked him, " what 
shall I convey as your last word to your absent mother ?'' 
The son replied, "tell her, I am going to hell" This father 
was a devoted minister of Christ. 

What then is that ground of hope ? Not that your pious 
friends and relatives will plead with you by letter or conver- 
sation more earnestly, and pray more fervently or constant- 
ly for you. Many a sinner has gone down to woe, under a 
thonsa-id kind exhortations, every one of which may be 
turned into an undying worm to gnaw at his conscience; un- 
der a thousand humble prayers, every one of which may 
prove like a vial of wrath, ever burning on his soul, and 
never emptied ; under floods of tears in his behalf, every 
drop of which may become as oil to the everlasting tlames in 
which he sinks. 

It is not, that you have resolved to repent before you die. 
Notwithstanding this, death may find you in your sins. 
Many a man in his youth has made resolutions as good and 
as strong as yours, and has nevertheless arrived at his three 
score years and ten, and then tottered into his grave, an en- 
emy of God. 

What, you ask again, is that ground of hope ? It is not 
that hereafter you may be subdued through the eloquence 
of some preacher, who shall possess a power, like that for 
which Whitfield once wnshed. " ! my dear hearer," said 
that man of God in a pulpit in the eastern part of this State, 
" I would pour thunder in your ear, I would flash lightnino- 
in your face, not to hurt you, but to bring you to Christ." 
Let the ambassador of God have such a power ; it would 
not bring to Christ the sinner, who has resisted the motives 
presented in the gospel. More than one sinner, Felix-like, 
has trembled under the preaching of righteousness and a 
judgment to come, and yet never repented. 



172 IRRELIGION NOT OWINC 

Nor is It a hope, that you may hereafter listen to some 
preacher, who can draw you with the cords of love, his own 
soul being; melted with the love of Jesus. There are sin- 
ners m hell, M^ho heard the dying groans of Jesus himself, 
who saw the print of the nails, and the thrust of the spear, 
and the gushing blood ; yes, they gazed on a spectacle of 
love, at which all heaven was moved, and yet did not repent. 

What then is the hope ? It is not, that God will send a 
messenger from the dead. Such a messenger might visit 
the sinner, and leave him still in his sins. Had we the 
power of raising the dead, could we bid into this assembly 
the spirits of departed mortals, we should not do it with any 
expectation of thereby certainly rescuing you from final 
condemnation. No, could some one call from their abodes 
in eternity the whole of those, who once occupied the rooms 
and seats you now occupy in these halls of science, it would 
be of no certain avail. They might all appear one after 
another here, and in visible shape and audible voice address 
you ; and at the sight and hearing you might tremble and 
turn pale, and perhaps cry out in the suddenness of your 
fear ; but all this would not secure the salvation of any one, 
who is now impenitent. 

What then is the sinner's ground of hope ? If he would 
only repent and embrace Christ as he is oifered in the gospel, 
all would be well. But there is scarce a shadov/ of probabil- 
ity that he will ever repent, for he has resisted motives of 
amazing variety and force, a long time. He will never be 
addressed with any new or more pofv^erful motives ; and if 
a new world of motives were opened upon him, if scores of 
departed friends and neighbors from the invisible world 
should come to press these motives upon him, it would not 
reach the case, because the difficulty lies not in want of mo- 
tives, but in his cherishing a heart that will not be moved, 
that carnal heart which is enmity against God. Where 



TO WANT OF EYIDENCE. 173 

then is there any hope for such a sinner ? Every one is 
entreated to inquire carefully for himself. Consider atten- 
tively your latter end. Go meditate this text: how can 
you escape the damnation of hell ? Up to this moment you 
have neglected the great salvation ; how then can you es- 
cape? Go and ponder this question. 

We only add our oft reiterated entreaty ; sinner, neglect 
salvation no longer. To day, God, in his infinite mercy, 
once more calls to you, through the means of grace you en- 
joy. Thus in his providence and by his grace, he has plan- 
ted one harrier more before you to hinder your progress to 
destruction. Do not prostrate it ; do not rush by it. You 
can easily do so, if you choose ; we beseech you, do it not. 
It may be the last obstacle or hindrance between you and 
ruin. It may be the only remaining bar or fence thrown 
in God's mercy athwart your path to the realms of despair ; 
force this aside, get yourself once beyond this, and all the 
remaining way may be but one slippery awful precipice, one 
instant, fearful, downward slide and plunge, and all is lost. 
Stop, then, where you are, and turn ; turn noiu ; we reiter- 
ate the words of warning and of entreaty : " turn ye, turn 
ye, for why will ye die ?" 



SERMON VI, 

ANALYSIS OF . CONSCIENCE. 

For when the Gentiles, which have not the law, do by 
nature the things contained in the law, these having 
not the law are a law unto thejmselves, which show 
the work op the law written in their hearts, their 
coj^science also bearing witness, and their thoughts the 
mean while accusing or excusing one another. 

Eomans, 2: 14, 15. 

It is well known, that much discussion has been made by 
philosophers and by theologians, respecting the nature of 
conscience. This is not the time or place to enter minutely 
or disputatiously into the questions which have been agita- 
ted on this subject. But as it is a subject of very great in- 
terest in moral science, and also a subject of unspeakable 
practical importance both to the real disciple of Christ and 
to the impenitent sinner, it is an appropriate topic for the 
pulpit. In treating the subject in the following discourse, 
it will be my design to bring out to view those essential 
facts respecting the conscience, a proper regard to which, in 
our daily conduct, will promote our highest spiritual in- 
terests. 

My plan is simply the following : first, to show the nature 
of conscience, or what it is, by giving somewhat exacily an 



ANALYSIS OF CONSCIENCE. 175 

analysis of its operations ; and then to append to the analy- 
sis several distinct remarks, all bearing upon the proper 
outline of this faculty. Let us attempt, then, an explana- 
tion or analysis of the phenomena of conscience, considered 
merely as operations, exercises, or acts of the mind. 

Here it is to be observed in the Jirst place, that in every 
instance in which there is an exercise of conscience, there is 
a complex operation of the mind, involving two distinct ele- 
ments or parts. One of these elements is, when existing by 
itself and apart from all others, a purely intellectual 
state, and belongs to that very numerous general class of 
intellectual states or acts, which, by most speakers and wri- 
tevs, is csiWed Judgmeiits . It is not, however, every judg- 
ment of any sort ; but it is a judgment belonging to that 
peculiar and well known variety, in which the mind takes 
cognizance of the relations of right and wrong. It is an 
intellectual judgment concerning something which is thereby 
pronounced right or wrong. And this thing judged of may 
be the conduct and feelings of others, or some practice or 
action considered abstractly. But the judgments of con- 
science more particularly respect our own conduct and feel- 
ings. They are specially and peculiarly exercised concern- 
ing something remembered as having been felt or done by 
ourselves, or some thing proposed to he done by ourselves. 
Such is the first element, a judgment respecting something, 
as being right or wrong. 

The second element is a feeling or emotion, wJiich arises 
with or from the judgment. This feeling is as truly distinct 
from the judgment, as any emotion or any other feeling of 
the mind is distinct from any intellectual state, with which 
it may virtually coexist. The feeling is a simple one, and 
therefore incapable of any definition or description, except 
by stating the circumstances, in which it arises. It is a 
peculiar feeling, such as never arises, except in connection 



176 ANALYSIS OF CONSCIEISICE. 

with some judgment belonging to the variety or class of 
judgments just now explained. Thus we have the two ele- 
ments or parts that are involved in every exercise, which is 
truly and properly an exercise of conscience ; viz., a judg- 
ment, which is by itself a mere intellectual act or state, and 
a peculiar y*eeZm^, which arises with it or from it, and which 
in its nature is wholly distinct and different. 

And here it is to be observed, again, in the second place, 
that this peculiar feeling varies according to the judgment, 
out of which, as its occasion or cause, it arises. The judg- 
ment may be formed in view of a past act or feeling re- 
membered ; and if this remembered act or feeling is judged 
to have even been right, fit, or good, then there arises the 
feeling of self-appi^ohation, and we say, stating in gross the 
whole complex operation, our conscience approves it ; but if 
the remembered act or feeling is judged to have been wrong, 
or bad, there arises the feeling of self-condemnation, and we 
say in common language, not thinking of any philosophical 
analysis of the operation, our conscience condemns it. 

The judgment may also be formed in view of something 
conceived or proposed as future ; and if the proposed future 
action or course of conduct is judged to be due from us, 
then there arises a feeling of oUigation to perform it, 2^ feel- 
ing, and not a mere intellectual state or act, a feeling or 
emotion, which is peculiar, and which we can describe only 
by mentioning how it arises in the mind, and then appealing 
to every man's consciousness. This judgment and feeling 
respecting a proposed future deed or course of proceeding, 
we call in common language a dictate of conscience. If the 
thing proposed to be done is judg-ed to be wrong, or sinful 
then arises a feeling of obligation to abstain fi'om it, and 
this state or operation of mind is also very commonly called 
a dictate of conscience. 

Such is the simple explanation of the nature of con- 



ANALYSIS OF CONSCIENCE. 177 

science ; and all that is set forth in this analysis, we unhesi- 
tatingly believe, every person will find to be literally matter 
of fact, when he carefully examines his own mental opera- 
tions. 

This explanation, we believe, also presents the subject in 
a very clear light, and a view very easily understood, and 
in a manner adapted to enforce the practical influence which 
should result from our knowledge of this part of our mental 
constitution. Nor does it appear to me a trivial circum* 
stance, although it may appear so to others, that this expla- 
nation exhibits two elements, which will very exactly har- 
monize with the descriptive language of the Apostle in the 
text ; for he here distinctly recognizes in the exercise of 
conscience, f^st, the thoughts, representing those states of the 
intellect, which we have called judgments, and secondly, the 
accusing or excusing which accompanies them, representing 
those movements of the sensibility which we have called 
feelings of condemnation or of approval. Nor will it escape 
observation, that this same analysis discloses a peculiar 
beauty and force in that other descriptive phrase of the 
Apostle, in which he speaks of conscience as rendering the 
mind a law unto itself To this brief analysis I wish to 
append a few distinct topics of remark, which will show 
themselves to be intimately connected with it, and will be 
found I trust, worthy of the attention of this audience, and 
stamped with high practical value. 

I remark, then, 1st, that we may easily see, that all men 
possess conscience^ in the sense in which the faculty or ca- 
pacity has now been explained. 

A conscience is not a peculiar gift of the Creator to a few 
favored individuals, or a few families or tribes. It is th& 
common inheritance of man. I do not mean, that idiots 
possess a conscience, nor do I intend to deny, that there 
may be other cases of beings having the outward shape of 

16 



178 ANALYSIS OF CONSCIENCE. 

men, and possessing also some other characteristics of jnen^ 
who yet are destitute ot* conscience. But I speak of such 
as are truly and properly men ; such as have actual human 
minds in their natural appropriate development. Every 
such mind has that kind or class of judgments v/hich is point- 
ed out in our analysis, and has also the accompanying feelings 
which have been described ; and to have these judgments 
and feelings combined is to exercise a conscience. Thus 
every man possesses a cooiscience. 

In some men there may be so much ignorance, that the 
sentences of conscience may seldom be passed, its dictates 
rarely uttered. There may be so bad an education, as 
that all its sentences and dictates may be unsound and unsafe. 
There may be a heart so wicked, and habits so degrad- 
ed and so sinful, as that its most solemn rebukes, its 
keenest remonstrances and warnings shall be little heed- 
ed. But no man is without it. The elements of it are 
inwrought into the very nature and essence of the mind. 
He who has not yet detected them in himself, (if there be 
such an one), will sooner or later find them. It is as im- 
possible that the mind should continue to exist, and should 
come up to its maturity, and not develope these elements, as 
that a tree should attain its full growth and age and not 
show to what speoies or class it belongs ; or a brute animal 
reach its complete natural vigor, and not exhibit its tem- 
pers and habits ; or that one of the material elements, as 
air, or fire, or steam, should be placed in the appropriate 
condition and not reveal to us its latent energies. 

The universality of conscience is recognized by the 
Apostle in our text. " For when the Gentiles, Avho iiave 
not the law, do by nature the things contained in the law, 
these, having not the law, are a law unto themselves ; which 
show the work of the law written in their hearts, their con- 
science also bearing witness, and their thoughts the mean- 



ANALYSIS OF CONSCIENCE. 179 

while accusing or else excusin;]!; one another." From this 
it is obvious, that those, who have not enjoyed the light of 
revelation, do nevertheless possess a conscience, as well as 
the Jews or Christians, or any others, who are instructed 
from the oracles of God. It is equally obvious from the 
passage, that the heathen act under the dictates of con- 
science, and are aware of its decisions ; '^ for their conscience 
beareth witness, and their thoughts either accuse or ex- 
cuse them." 

Experience, I believe, has invariably been in accordance 
with this view. No tribe or race of men have been found, .-^..^^ 
however savage and degraded, among whom the actings of 
conscience have not been exhibited. Even where there is 
but a feeble trace of any idea of the one supreme God, or of 
future retribution, we find, that notwithstanding this, there 
are notions of right and wrong, and that some things are 
approved as right and proper, while other things are con- 
demned as improper and wrong ; there are thoughts which 
accuse, and thoughts which excuse. No people or tribe is 
found, which does not in this way show the work of the law 
written in their minds. 

It is indeed true, that the prevalent notions of right and 
wrong have been very different at diiferent times and 
among different people. What in one age or country is de- 
nounced as utterly wrong, may in the next age, or in an- 
other country, be highly approved as morally right. But 
these diversities, and even contradictions in the decisions of 
conscience, do not disprove its universality ; on the other 
hand, they do in fact, demonstrate both its universality and 
its supremacy. They show,' that the elements of conscience 
are so essentially involved in the very constitution of the mind, 
that its development in some form caiuiot he avoided. Un- 
educated, savage tribes have exhibited the grossest and most 
lamentable perversions of conscience, but these very perv-er- 
sions only demonstrate.j that there is a conscience to pervert. 



180 ANALYSIS OF CONSCIENCE. 

I remark 2dlj, that it is clearly obvious from our anal- 
ysis, that conscience is not simply a moral sense. 

The phrase moral sense has been a favorite one with many 
persons in speaking and writing on this subject. And I 
shall not deny, that there is some faint analogy between the 
operations of conscience, and those of sensation and per- 
ception. But the analogy is very slight, and the use of the 
term sense, in reference to the conscience, is calculated 
greatly to mislead the mind ; it tends to keep out of view 
the exact process which takes place in every exercise 
of conscience ; and it has actually led to very gross errors, 
in morals and religion. 

The use of the phrase moral sense seems to imply, that 
there are objects out of the mind itself, which have certain 
moral qualities or properties, analogous to the physical 
properties or qualities of matter, and that these moral quali- 
ties of objects or actions affect the moral sense by directly 
awakening its feeling, just as the -qualities of matter affect 
our physical senses by awakening the feelings called sen- 
sations. 

And such has actually been the doctrine of many philoso- 
phers, M'ho have wished well to the cause of truth and good 
morals. But the error involved in it has given occasion for 
doctrines utterly subversive of all distinction between right 
and wrong. 

Some, for example, assuming this mistake respecting a 
moral sense, and finding that precisely the same actions and 
objects awaken very different and even opposite feelings, in 
different ages and countries, and even in different individu- 
als of the same age and country, have come to the conclu- 
sion, that there may be, in different minds, an original 
diversity in reference to morals, grounded on arbitrary dif- 
ferences in their very constitution ; a notion which strikes a 
death blow at all moral obligation. If in order to appre- 



M 



ANALYSIS OF CONSCIENCE. 181 

hend a moral quality or a moral duty, I must have a sense 
fitted to feel it, just as in order to apprehend a color, I must 
have a sense adapted to it, and all my notion of the quality 
or duty is based on the particular feeling of that moral sense, 
just a.^ all my notion of the color is based on the particular 
feeling of my physical sense of vision ; then it inevitably 
follows, that my moral obligations are only commensui-ate 
with the feelings of this moral sense ; whatever the feel- 
ings by this sense may be in any case, these are the sole 
measures of my duty; and to me the whole of right and 
v/rong is based upon, and is embraced in, these feelings of 
my own mind. Thus right and wrong, duty, moral obliga- 
tion, and the whole distinction between virtue and vice con- 
sists in my personal sensations, just as the whole of all the 
vast variety of colors is, as to me, nothing but so many mod- 
ifications of my own sense of vision. If in both cases, there 
is some outward quality or property, still the effect on my 
mind is, in both cases, the result of an arbitrary constitu- 
tion, and that, vv'liich awakens my feeling of approbation, 
might have been made to awaken my disapprobation, just 
as that, which now awakens the feeling of green, might 
have been made to awaken a feeling of red, or of hlach. It 
needs no discussion to show, that such a view prostrates, at 
once, all moral obligation ; it reduces conscience to a mere 
physical capacity, such as the brutes themselves possess, 
and makes virtue nothino- but an ao-reeable sensation. Otli- 
ers, assuming the mistaken notion of a moral sense, and 
finding the vast discrepancies already mentioned between 
its decisioris in different ages and countries, have inferred 
that the feelings and dictates of conscience are not a part 
of the original constitution of the mind, but merely acci- 
dental results of education and circumstances ; that con- 
science, therefore, does not show any eternal law of riglit 
and of obligation written on the soul by the finger of God, 

16* 



182 ANALYSIS OF CONSCIENCE. 

but only sliows the vast influence which is produced by 
early and habitual associations. This view, it is obvious, 
is equally fatal to all good morals. Right, according to this 
scheme, is nothing but custom, and wrong has nothing bad 
in it) except that it is not the thing in fashion. Virtue is 
merely a kind of felt beauty, and vice is merely a seeming 
ugliness. Such, in substance, is the moral system of the 
infidel Hume. 

In the analysis given in this discourse, we have seen that 
in every exercise of conscience there is, indeed, the move- 
ment of a sensibility, there is always a peculiar feeling; 
and if the term moral sense should be employed to desig- 
nate that feeling, as one of the elements of conscience, it 
would be employed as the name of something which truly 
exists, and therefore be allowable and perhaps proper ; but 
there is so much danger that the phrase will suggest, analo- 
gies to the bodily senses and thereby mislead the mind, that 
I think it best to avoid the use of it altogether. I should 
much prefer the term emotion, which is employed by Brown, 
to designate that element of conscience which consists in 
the feeling ; although this term is not perfectly satisfactory, 
since the feeling is a very peculiar one, and quite unlike all 
the other feelings commonly included under the name of 
emotions. 

Since the name of Brown has been introduced, it seems 
important here to remark, that while he has done well in 
dispensing with a deceptive and dangerous phrase, this most 
acute and original thinker has nevertheless retained, in his 
ethical system an error, which leads almost exactly to the 
same results as flow from the notion of a moral sense. He 
represents the feeling itself, although he calls it an emotion, 
as being in truth the ground of all moral distinctions. In- 
deed, he expressly asserts, that the reason why one thing is 
right, and another wrong, is, that the one awakens in our 



ANALYSIS OF CONSCIENCE. 183 

minds an emotion of approbation and the other an emotion 
of disapprobation. This view is fundamentally erroneous 
and false. It makes all virtue and vice as truly and as fully 
dependent on the feelings of our own minds, as does the 
notion of a moral sense. It entirely confounds the distinc- 
tion between right and wrong. If a deed is right, simply 
because that deed awakens in my mind an emotion of ap- 
probation, then the same deed must also be wrong, if it ex- 
cite in the mind of another man an emotion of disapproba- 
tion. Thus there can be no common or fixed standard of 
morality. Each man's rule must be the emotions of his 
own mind ; and thus judged, there is not a moral action of 
any man's life, which cannot be proved to be both good and 
bad, both right and wrong, at the same time. 

The true statement of the case is, that rioht and wrong 
are wholly independent of our emotions ; and there is an 
eternal and immutable distinction between them. The actual 
process in an exercise of conscience is not, that we have 
first an emotion, and then judge by that emotion of the 
morality of the thing examined or noticed. The process is 
exactly the reverse; we first judge of the morality of the 
thing, and then the emotion follows. The whole process is 
indeed instantaneous and takes place in time less than we 
can measure ; yet the two things are distinct in nature, and 
the judgment in order of nature precedes the emotion, and 
is the ground and cause of it. 

Any theory, therefore, or system of morals, which bases 
the decisions of conscience on a mere sense, emotion, or 
feeling of any kind, is both erroneous and dangerous. 

I remark 3dly, that the analysis we have given, enables 
us to see clearly what is meant by an enlightened conscience. 

If an exercise of conscience implies first a judgment, and 
secondly a feeling growing out of that judgment, it is obvi- 
ous enough, that the correctness or propriety of the whole 



184 ANALYSIS OF CONSCIENCE.' 

exercise will depend on the correctness or propriety of the 
judgment, which causes the feeling. Now the correctness 
of any judgment consists in its being conformed to the truth 
and reality of things. A judgment is correct and proper 
just in proportion as it is thus accordant with reality and 
fact; and a judgment is incorrect just in proportion as it 
wants this accordance. But a man's judgment, in reference 
to any subject whatever, is likely to be correct, just in pro- 
portion to the accuracy, definiteness and extent of his 
knowledge on that subject and subjects intimately connected 
with it. The amount of knowledge, which a man possesses 
in reference to any subject, is figuratively expressed by a 
certain degree or quantity of light. To increase the amount 
of knowledge in any mind is to enlighten that mind. To 
augment the knovvledge in reference to a particular subject 
is to enlighten the mind in relation to that subject. To 
instruct a man accurately and fully on the various affairs of 
society and government, is to enlighten -him in the matter of 
politics ; and such a man's judgments in political affairs 
will be the more correct in consequence of his being thus 
instructed and enlightened. To make a man well acquainted 
with the principles of composition, polite letters, and the 
fine arts, is to enlighten hira in matters of taste ; and such 
a man's judgments on these subjects will be the more just 
and accurate because he is thus enlightened, and it would 
not be at all improper to call such a person a man of enlight- 
ened i^ste, although the customary and familiar phrase is, a 
man of cidtivated taste. 

So let the mind be well instructed in all that pertains to 
morals, virtue, and religion, and we justly say it is enlight- 
ened on these subjects. The judgments of such a mind, on 
every question of right and wrong, wiil of course be more 
likely to be correct. The judgments being correct, they 
will cause the corresponding suitable emotions. Such 



ANALYSIS OF CONSCIENCE. 185 

judgments and emotions united constitute exercises of con- 
science, or instances of the actings of conscience ; and in 
the case of the mind supposed, (that is, one well informed 
in morals and religion), we should have the actings of an 
enlightened conscience. 

An enlightened conscience, then, implies that the mind is 
comparatively well informed on the subjects about which the 
judgments of conscience are formed. An enlightened con- 
science implies that the person has such a degree of knowl- 
edge, respecting the things of morality and religion, as is 
requisite to prepare the mind for correct judgments on those 
matters. To enliohten one's conscience is therefore to fur- 
nish his mind with such ideas and such feelings, as will 
constitute the requisite knowledge. It is in this way only, 
that the decisions and dictates of conscience can be roider- 
ed more correct, than they may have been previously. It 
was thus, that the conscience of Paul, the Apostle, was 
made to differ so remarkably from the conscience of the 
persecuting Saul. Before his conversion, he verily thought 
that he did God service by thrusting into dungeons the dis- 
ciples of Christ without distinction of age or sex. Such 
was the state of his religious knowledge and feelings, that 
he judged that course of conduct to be right, and a feeling 
of self-approval accompanied the judgment ; and thus he 
conscientiously imprisoned the believing men and women. 
But he had a conscience comparatively unenlightened. Af- 
ter his conversion, the same conduct appeared to him to be 
exceedingly criminal. He condemned himself in the most 
explicit and unsparing manner. He had now obtained new 
views, new knowledge, new ideas and feelings, respecting the 
subject. This prepared his mind to form a different judg- 
ment, a judgment pronouncing his conduct to be wrong; and 
such a judgment of course was accompanied with a feeling 
of self-condemnation. His conscience h^d become enlight- 
ened. 



186 ANALYSIS OF CONSCIENCE. 

In the same manner have the consciences of muUitudes 
of men been enlightened in later times ; and thereby their 
former judgments and feelings of conscience have been re- 
versed. The very things, which they once approved, they 
subsequently condemned ; and what they previously had 
most strongly condemned, they afterwards highly approved. 
The light of some new and more accurate, or more com- 
plete knowledge was let in upon their minds ; this prepared 
them ibr more correct judgments, and more correct judg- 
ments secured different feelings, of the conscience. 

In accordance with this account of the matter, is every 
man's effort when he wishes to alter the conscientious feel- 
ings of another. Such a man always addresses the under- 
standing of the person he desires to influence. He expects 
to effect a change in the decisions of conscience only by first 
reaching and modifying the judgments. 

In accordance wnth this view also is the fact, that the 
Holy Scriptures have f hvays proved a grand means of en- 
lightening the conscience. They have diffused a flood of 
light on all the branches of human duty. A vast amount 
of new, definite and interesting truth is by them offered to 
the mind. The mere child of our Sabbath schools has more 
accurate and valuable knowledge on many very important 
subjects of religion and morals, than the greatest philoso- 
pher could ever acquire without the Bible. Hence it is, that 
the general conscience in a christian community is so much 
superior to what it is in a heathen nation. The truth of God 
enliofhtens the conscience. And the one g'rand rule to be 
given for enlightening the conscience is, study the sacred 
oracles ; become familiar with the precepts and doctrines of 
revelation ; imbue the soul with this divine knowledge re- 
specting the whole duty of man ; and thus furnish the mind 
with the requisite preparation for a correct judgment on 
every question of right " The testimony of the Lord is 



ANALYSIS OF CONSCIENCE. 187 

sure, making "wise the simple ; the commandment of the 
Lord is pure, enlightening the eyes ; the judgments of the 
Lord are true and righteous altogether ; and in keeping of 
them, there is great reward." But let me not be understood 
to imply that mere speculative knowledge will constitute 
such an enUcjJde7img, as will always secure a correct and 
healthy exercise of conscience in the present life. It must 
not be overlooked, that the state of the heart may modify 
those judgments, which form the first element of conscience* 
" Who can understand his errors ? Cleanse thou me from 
secret faults.'' 

And this leads me to ^fourth remark, viz , that our anal- 
ysis enables us easily to see what is meant by a perverted 
conscience. It is well known how much our judgment in 
general may be modified by the influence of prejudice, self- 
interest, habitual temper or disposition, temporary emotion, 
party zeal, private attachments and hostilities, and numer- 
ous other causes. So universal is this influence, and so well 
is it understood among men, that in determining what weight 
we ought to allow to the judgments of men on any subject, 
we always enquire respecting their previous biases and dis- 
positions as well as respecting their knowledge, on the sub- 
ject. And although we may find men to have been sufficient- 
ly enlightened by their knowledge to enable them to form just 
and correct judgments, yet if we find them to have cherished 
feelings and biases adverse- to just and correct judgments, 
we are at once led to doubt whether their actual judgments 
in such a case are correct. We suspect that they may have 
been misled by their feelings, and so have come to decis- 
ions which truth and facts \i\\\ not justify. In such a case 
we should say, we fear that the judgment might be perver- 
ted by the inclinations of the heart. 

Now let this be applied to a man's judgments respecting 



188 ANALYSIS OF CONSCIENCE. 

questions of right and duly, and we have what is properly 
designated by the phrase, perverted conscience. 

A perverted conscience implies, that the first element in- 
volved in its exercise, viz., the judgment, is wrong ; and is 
made so^ by the influence of some cause or other besides 
mere ignorance, and most commonly made so by the influence 
of some temper, bias, or other feeling or condition of the 
heart. In order to pervert the conscience, it is only neces- 
sary to bring some influence of the feelings to bear upon 
the judgment, and cause the judgment to be erroneous, i. e., 
cause it to pronounce a right thing wrong, or a wrong thing 
right; for if the the first element, i. e. the judgment, is thus 
turned aside from truth and reality, the second element, viz., 
the feeling of approval or of condemnation, will of course be 
also turned astray ; in other words, there will be a perver- 
sion of the conscience. And it is only by thus warping 
and distorting the judgment, that the conscience can be per- 
verted. This every deceiver and seducer practically, un- 
derstands ; for in their attempts to throw down the barriers 
of conscience in their victims, they invariably seek to bring 
some of the various feelings of the heart, or some of the nu- 
merous prejudices of the mind, so to bear upon the judgment, 
as that its decisions, in particular questions of right and 
wrong, shall be different from what they otherwise would 
be. The tempter often succeeds in inducing his victims to 
act contrary to the dictates of conscience, where he does 
not succeed in actually perverting the conscience. But the 
arch seducer and destroyer of mankind is not usually quite 
satisfied with such a degree of success. It far more pro- 
motes his design, if he can completely pervert the conscience, 
so that the deluded sinner may judge his conduct to be right, 
and may thus be even encouraged in his fatal career, by a 
feeling of self-approval. 



ANALYSIS OF CONSCIENCE. 189 

In what a variety of wajs, and by what a number of dif- 
ferent prejudices and feelings, the judgments of men in mat- 
ters of moral obligation and duty are corrupted and their 
consciences thereby perverted, time would fail me to specify. 
Volumes of mighty folios would not contain the facts ; every 
department of life, every pursuit, profession and condi- 
tion found among men, would contribute a store of illustra- 
tions. A history of the perversions of conscience, effected 
in the way just described, by modifying and corrupting the 
judgment, would nearly comprehend the history of the world. 

There is nothing, which a man should more dread, than a 
perverted conscience, which "calls evil good and good evil, 
which puts light for darkness, and darkness for light." Noth- 
ing renders the impenitent sinner's condition so hopeless, as 
to fall under the sway of a perverted conscience ; for in such 
a case, the grand safeguard of his soul is changed into a 
constant and prolific source of danger ; the appointed watch- 
man is transformed into a deceitful and treacherous foe. 

And let not any professor of religion suppose himself 
exempt from exposure to a perverted conscience. Melan- 
choly facts proclaim, that within the enclosures of the 
church, perverted conscience has wrought the foulest crimes 
and abominations. 

The only adequate and complete security against perver- 
sion of conscience is the entire sanctification of the heart, 
united with the requisite knowledge of divine truth. This 
plainly calls upon every one to seek constantly for the illu- 
minating and renewing influences of the Holy Spirit. 
Under these gracious influences, and under these alone, we 
may be enabled to live in the exercise and enjoyment of a 
good conscience. 

And here, I am induced to remark, 5thly, that we are 
also enabled, by our analysis, to see clearly, what it is to 
have a good conscience, 

17 



190 ANALYSIS OF CONSCIENCE. 

It is a very coramon mistake to confound a good con- 
science with an approving conscience, while tliey may be as 
wide apart as heaven and hell. Most persons are content^ 
if their consciences do not condemn them. And very few, 
it is to be feared, ever think themselves in any danger, or 
inquire any farther after truth, duty or right, if they can 
only say without a felt falsehood, that their own conscience 
approves them ; they imagine this to be the same thing as 
having a good conscience. " I did the thing," says the 
unthinking offender, " in good conscience ;" but he forgets, 
that all he can possibly be sure of is, that he did it with a 
conscience that did not condemn him, but approved him in 
the deed. Is he sure, that he did it with a good conscience ? 
Perhaps it was with a very had conscience, with an utterly 
dark and perverted conscience ; perhaps it was nothing but 
this utter darkness and perversion, that hindered his con- 
science from uttering her loudest warnings and prohibitions 
against the deed, when first contemplated ; and perhaps it is 
nothing else, that now hinders conscience from inflicting her 
keenest pangs of self-reproach for the deed, when it is re- 
membered. 

An approving conscience does not necessarily imply, that 
the judgment which forms its first element is a correct and 
just judgment ; it only implies, that it is a judgment in the 
man's favor and not against him ; while there is still a pos- 
sibility, that in truth and right, the judgment ought to be 
the reverse, against the man and not in his favor, and so 
the conscience ought to be a condemning one, instead of an 
approving one. 

But a good conscience always implies, that the judgment, 
■which forms the first element, is just such as it ought to be, 
just such as accords with truth and right in the matter judged 
upon. 

A good conscience implies the possession of adequate 



ANALYSIS OF CONSCIENCE. 191 

knowledge iu reference to moral and religious duties ; it 
also iaiplies a freedom from all those influences, which may 
come from prejudice and from partial feelings to bias and 
warp the judgment, and cause it to err in its decisions- In 
order to have a truly good conscience, a man must have 
all that preparation of intellect by knowledge of truth, 
and all that preparation of heart by love of truth and holi- 
ness, which are requisite to secure correct and proper judg- 
ments. That the conscience may be good, it must be 
enligJitened^ and especially must it be unjjerverted. 

Something more also is implied in a good conscience ; its 
goodness does not all lie in the accuracy and equity of the 
judgments which constitute its first element ; the quality ap- 
pertains also to the feelings or emotions, which constitute its 
second element. And in respect of these, a good conscience 
implies, that they rise promptly with the judgments and are 
lively in degree. There may be unwholesome influences, 
which bear adversely u]3on the second element of conscience 
as well as the first; and sometimes, where the judgment 
cannot be perverted, the prompt rise and vivid strength of 
the appropriate emotion may be restrained and counteracted. 
A good conscience, therefore, involves not only the correct- 
ness in judging, but also the quickness and the tenderness in 
feeling. 

And here, since I have spoken of te^iderness, it is due 
to the subject, and due to the attentive hearer, that I should 
notice the distinction between a weak conscience and a 
tender conscience, for they are quite different things. A 
weak conscience is by no means desirable ; but a tender 
conscience is one of the most valuable possessions of the 
mind. The conscience is weak, where the knowledge is so 
imperfect, and where prejudices and superstitious biases are 
so strong, as to produce the condemning or forbidding judg- 
menlj and of course the feeling of disapproval or of obli- 



192 ANALYSIS OF CONCSIENCE, 

gation to abstain, in cases wliicli do not in reality call for 
such a sentence. 

Thus the matter is explained by Paul to the Corinthians, 
(i Eph. 8 : 4-7). There were some who could not consci- 
entiously taste of the meats sacrificed unto idols. Paul 
declares, that to eat of such offerings was not sinful, 
because " we know, " says he, " that an idol is nothing." 
" Howbeit," he adds, '' there is not in every man that 
hnowledge ; for some with conscience of the idol unto this 
hour eat it, as a thing offered unto an idol ; and their con- 
science, being iveah, is defiled." The erronious judgment 
of those, who dreaded to eat of the idol's food, is expressly 
ascribed to their ignorance and prejudice, and their con- 
science is pronounced toeah Such then is the weak con- 
science ; it is one, which, through ignorance and groundless 
prejudice or superstition, condemns where it need not con- 
demn. But the tender conscience does not imply any such 
error. It only implies that the feelings, which are appro- 
priate to the judgment passed, arise in the mind with 
promptness and liveliness. Tenderness of conscience is 
therefore essential to a truly good conscience. The tender 
conscience is one, which feels both quickly and keenly the 
wrongness of that which it sees to be wrong. "When a past 
act or feeling of the mind, on being reviewed, is pronounced 
wrong or sinful by the judgment, then the self-reproach is 
instant and strong, if the conscience is tender. Or when 
some proposed action is contemplated, and is pronounced 
wrong by the judgment', then, if the conscience is tender, 
there is at once a strong and vivid feeling of obligation to 
abstain from, or avoid such action. 

A tender conscience is the opposite of a stupid and hard- 
ened conscience. It is by counteracting and resisting the 
tenderness that the hardness and stupidity is produced. Of 
this melancholy transformation there are too many exam« 



ANALYSIS OF CONSCIENCE. 193 

pies. There is no part of our mental constitution, in which 
the law of habit operates with more fatal efficacy, than in 
this. Repeated resistance to the feelings oi conscience, 
serves to weaken and to check them. And it is all impor- 
tant to notice, that mere omission to comply fully with the 
urgings of the tenderest conscience, is of the nature of re- 
sistance to those tender urgings. We need not rush on to 
flagrant transgression against the warnings of conscience 
and in spite of her loud reproaches, in order to harden and 
stupify her. "We have only, in repeated instances, to neg- 
lect her gentlest intimations, to allow her feeblest emotions 
to pass unheeded, and we shall eftectually carry forward the 
work of induration. 

With two brief remarks, I shall close. 

The first is, that, although in the present world, an ap- 
proving conscience is often far enough from being a good 
conscience, yet the only way to secure a permanently ap- 
proving conscience, is to maintain a good one. Always 
keep a good conscience, and then you may finally and eter- 
nally enjoy an approving conscience. But neglect to cher- 
ish a good conscience, and you will ere long suffer the woes 
of a condemning conscience. For a time, you may indeed 
enjoy the approbation, of a bad and perverted conscience, 
or the silence of a stupid and hardened conscience ; but 
this can last at the longest, only until death ushers your 
soul into the eternal world ! 

Finally, what has been now presented may show both 
the special means and the peculiar importance of cultivating 
the power, faculty, or capacity, whichever any may choose 
to call it, of conscience. We have analyzed its operations 
and exhibited its principal elements ; we have seen how 
each element may be injured and weakened, and also how 
each may be improved and strengthened ; we have seen 
what combination of these exists in every sound and desira- 

17* 



194 ANALYSIS OF CONSCIENCE. 

ble exercise of conscience ; and we have seen tlie fatal issue 
of all habits which occasion or allow an unsound or un- 
healthy operation. 

The subject, therefore, calls on every one to cultivate his 
conscience. I speak not here of the general obligation to 
cultivate all the powers and capabilities of the mind, which 
rests both as a claim of duty and as a matter of wisdom 
upon every man. But I urge the special obligation of every 
one without exception, be he who or what he may, to culti- 
vate and improve Ms conscience. With this part of your 
mental constitution, your eternal welfare is most intimately 
connected. Your everlasting bliss or woe is involved in the 
question whether you successfully cultivate and cherish a 
good conscience. Be urged, then, earnestly to emulate the 
great Apostle, whose history presents so eminent an example 
of an improved and cultivated conscience, and like him, 
" exercise yourselves to maintain a conscience void of offence 
towards God and towards man." 



SERMON VII. 

CONSCIENCE AS AN ORGAN OF 
PUNISHMENT. 



The spirit op a man will sustain his infirmity ; but a 
WOUNDED SPIRIT, WHO CAN BEAR? — Proverbs, 18: 14. 

This very striking passage is commonly interpreted, I 
believe, as describing the peculiarly intense misery, which 
the human mind is liable to suffer from its own acts of self- 
condemnation. And certainly, whether such be the pri- 
mary meaning or not, the language when used for such a 
purpose, appears not only pertinent, but both beautiful and 
impressive. 

There is a wonderful energy and elasticity in the mind, 
by which it often rises up under the pressure of bodily 
infirmities and of outward evils, and throws off the weight of 
sorrows and woes which encompass it, and stands out in a 
sort of godlike superiority to danger and to suffering. In 
calm serenity and composure, the spirit of the martyr hath 
often encountered the faggot and the flames, or endured the 
agonies of the rack and the torture. History is full of exam- 
ples to illustrate this power of the mind to sustain itself 
against the countless foes, which may assail its happiness, 
from without. Scarcely is there a form of pagan supersti- 



196 CONSCIENCE AS AN ORGAN OF PUNISHMENT. 

tioii SO degraded, as not to furnish instances of the soul thus 
triumphing by its own inherent energies over the infirmi- 
ties and pains of the body, even over the fury of the mate- 
rial elements, and the more merciless rage of human pas- 
sions. When this innate energy and elasticity of the mind 
is aided and strengthened by the self- approbation of a good 
conscience, the soul is like a lofty and impregnable fortress, 
which bids defiance to every assault that can be made upon 
it. Come what may, let the storms beat never so fiercely, let 
all the various ills and woes, that fiesh is heir to, be gath- 
ered into one collected mass and heaped upon the mind ; 
add to excruciating pains of body, the woes of apprehended 
and felt poverty, and contempt, and reproach, and persecu- 
tion ; let successive calamities, like billow after billow, swell 
and dash over the soul ; and the " spirit of a man" will sus- 
tain it all, when buoyed up by the secret, silent, and, as it 
were, magic power of an enlightened and approving con- 
science. 

But let the assaults on the peace and quietude of the 
mind be the assaults not of external foes, but of conscience 
itself, then what support has the mind? When it is con- 
science that inflicts the blows, then, who can bear the " woun- 
ded spirit?" 

The text brings to view particularly one of those high 
and solemn purposes, which conscience in the human mind 
accomplishes, under the agency of God and in accordance 
with his plans of sovereign wisdom and goodness. It would 
be very interesting and useful to enter at large into the field 
of thought thus suggested, and contemplate a number of these 
most important purposes which conscience in man subserves, 
under the government of God. 

We might show, that conscience in man is an absolutely 
indispensable help, in forming and perfecting his own indi- 
vidual character, considered merely with reference to this life. 



CONSCIENCE AS AN ORGAN OF PUNISHMENT, 197 

We might show, that conscience in man is the great con- 
servative principle of human society, without which law 
would be powerless, if it should exist ; and physical force 
itself would be stripped of more than half its terror. 

We might show also, that conscience in man i& the essen- 
tial capacity, if I may use the metaphor, the grand avenue^ 
by which the soul is to be approached in all efforts to secure 
its salvation from the wrath to come. 

But there is still another use, which conscience subserves 
under the government of God, and which is more particu- 
larly suggested by the text ; and it is to this that I invite 
your candid attention in the remainder of the discourse, 
while we contemplate conscience as an organ of punishment. 

Viewing it in this light, we shall see how much more 
perfect the government of God is, than any human govern- 
ment can possibly be, and how easily and how certainly, 
both the smallest and the greatest sins may be visited with 
a just retribution. 

Observe then, in the Jirst place, that conscience alone 
brings home to the soul ih.Q evidence of guilt. Whatever 
amount of evidence may exist, it mu-st be brought home 
and applied to the mind by its own judgment, or it will not 
have the eiFect of evidence, and will lay no foundation for 
the mental suffering which is essential to real punishment. 
Let a man, for example, be assailed with all the evidence 
possible in a human court ; let there be a mass of circum- 
stantial indications of criminality ; let there be glaring 
facts in his known conduct ; let there be positive and strong 
testimony from unimpeachable witnesses ; let there be an 
overwhelming accumulation of evidence ; let this bring 
against the man the unanimous opinion of the whole court 
and the whole community ; yet, notwithstanding all this, 
unless ihe, judgment of the man's own mind pronounces his 
conduct wrong, it is just as if there were no demonstration 



198 CONSCIENCE AS AN ORGAN OF PUNISHMENT. 

and no evidence against him. The punishment, which may 
follow, will not in reality reach him ; the prerequisite foun- 
dation for it is not laid in his own consciousness. Pain may 
be inflicted severely, and keenly felt ; but it will not be felt 
in that peculiarity of force which renders suffering a pun- 
ishment. The inflicted pain will be viewed as a misfortune, 
and an evil ; it may be considered by the suiferer as mere 
persecution or as gross tyranny and cruelty ; but this will not 
impart to it the nature of punishment. The man's own mind 
must first pronounce it fitting and due to his actions or char- 
acter. This conviction is that which gives to the suffering 
its point and edge, as a just retribution. Such a conviction 
it is often impossible for man to effect in his fellow man, 
even in those who are truly guilty. But every judgment 
of the human mind is under the control of God ; with infi- 
nite ease can He cause the sinner not only to remember the 
past and contemplate the various circumstances of his conduct^ 
but also to apprehend the sinfulness of every wicked action 
or feeling ; in an instant, in the twinkling of an eye, by an 
eneigy which none can resist, he can touch the secret springs 
of conscience, and flash conviction upon the soul. And thus 
it is that conscience in man is an organ of 'punishment under 
the government of God ; since by and through it alone, is 
the necessary self-conviction effected. 

Observe, in the second place, that conscience alone in^ 
fticts the pangs of self-reproach. 

Self-conviction is merely the sentence of the mind, admit- 
ting and declarinor some of its own acts or feelino-s to be 
wrong. Self-reproach is something more ; it is a feeling of 
a peculiarly and indescribably painful kind. The two are 
most intimately connected, but are yet to be distinguished. 
Self-conviction always brings with it or after it self-rep roach 
or remorse ; self-reproach always presupposes or implies self- 
conviction. They are indeed but other terms for the two 



CONSCIENCE AS AN ORGAN OF PUNISHMENT. 199 

elements pointed out in the analysis of conscience. The sen- 
tence of conviction is the jadgment of the mind ; the pang of 
remorse is the concomitant or consequent feeling which is suf* 
fered. 

It has already appeared plainly enough, that no accumu- 
lation of outward evidence, is certain to effect even the 
prerequisite step of self-conviction. An accused man may 
be declared guilty by the jury, and sentenced by the judge, 
and reprobated by the whole world, and yet not be himself 
convinced of his crime. Now how obvious is it, that, in 
such a case, he will feel no self-reproach ? His public trial, 
and his complete condemnation and disgrace by its decisions, 
utterly fail of doing the proper work of punishment. With 
no sentence and no reproof from the monitor in his own bo* 
som,itis to him a comparatively light thing to be condemned 
by other men's judgments. With great composure, he may 
bear the rebukes of the magistrate, the contempt of the mul- 
titude, and all the penalties of the civil law. 

Of all evils and sufferings, there is none which is so uni- 
versally dreaded, and so solicitously avoided, as self-reproach, 
and yet, how i-arely do men take the only sure way to escape 
it 1 Sincere obedience to the law of God, in all things, 
would forever shield the soul from its stings ; real holiness 
of heart and life would perpetually fill the mind with peace 
and joy. But instead of seeking protection from the 
dreaded suffering by this simple and certain method, the 
mind of man hath sought out a thousand inventions. 

No observer of human life is ignorant of the ever vary- 
ing devices and pleas which are framed to prevent the con- 
demning sentence, or soften down the reproofs, of conscience. 
With what fallacious reasonings is the understandins: often 
duped and blinded ! What frivolous pretexts does the 
judgment frequently admit, as adequate and justifying ex- 
cuses \ How promptly is the memory summoned to recount 



200 CONSCIENCE AS AN ORGAN OF PUNISHMENT. 

every palliating circumstance in abatement of guilt; and 
how strangely is this faculty sometimes disorganized or 
paralyzed, so as to consign at least to temporary oblivion 
the foulest aggravations of crime ! With what amazing 
fertility also, do fancy and imagination bring forth their 
artfully wrought apologies, and urge the mind to self-justifi- 
cation, by glowing pictures of human frailty and dependence, 
of the physical power constitutionally belonging to the de- 
sires and passions, or of the almost resistless force of tempt- 
ation, or by other partial and distorted representations of 
fact, or well -glossed fabrications of falsehood ! If t)ut half 
the ability and ingenuity, which are worse than wasted in 
efforts to hinder a condemning verdict in the court of con- 
science, after wrong has been perpetrated, were only rightly 
employed in seeking out truth and duty, and in urging the 
soul to achievements of virtue and holiness, the mind of the 
sinner, then, instead of having only the brief and at best 
but the half-quiet calm of a stijled conscience, or the delu- 
sive and treacherous repose of a perverted conscience, would 
soon find that peace which is like a river, and that joy 
which is like an overflowing stream, tierein, as in other 
respects, we may see that " the way of transgressors is 
hard." They must toil more to secure from their own con- 
science, not an actual acquittal but even a mere silence, 
while they continue estranged from God, than would be 
needful to obtain a positive and sweet approval, by walking 
in the path of his testimonies. 

And after all, the silence, if it is ever effected, is but 
temporary. Conscience cannot be cheated out of her pre- 
rogative. She may be flattered, or bribed, or deceived, for 
the present moment, but no one can ever bind her in cove- 
nant or promise for the future. She may actually sleep 
to-day, but she gives no guaranty that she will sleep also 
to-morrow. She is the servant of God ; and is fully com- 



CONSCIENCE AS AN ORGAN OF PUNISHMENT. 201 

missioned, as liis minister of vengeance and organ of pun- 
ishment, to inflict upon the soul, which has committed sin, 
the pangs of self-reproach and remorse. It is true, that no 
human power can, with absolute certainty, call forth her 
terrible utterances in the soul of man ; but it is also true, 
that no power of man can hinder those utterances, when 
God, her master, bids her condemn. 

And how awfully agonizing is the infliction, which is 
sometimes brought thus upon the soul, through conscience, 
as the organ of punishment. After long continued self- 
justification, effected by such artifices and delusions as have 
been just described, or after a protracted slumber of con- 
science, under the engrossing pleasures of sense or equally 
engrossing occupations of business, the work of self-convic- 
tion is often wrought out in an unexpected moment. Con- 
science pours in the evidence of guilt as with a blaze of 
scorching sunbeams, and flashes the sentence of condemna- 
tion as with the swiftness and fury of lightning, and lets 
loose upon the soul all the terrors of remorse, like a tempest 
flood of waters. What sufferings is there to be compared 
with this ? Who will here speak of the acutest pains of 
disease, of bodily laceration and tortures, or even the agony 
of gradual burning of the flesh in the flames? All these 
are but faint emblems of the rendino-s, and stins-ino-s, and 
smartings of the wounded spirit. " The spirit of a man 
will sustain his infirmities, but a wounded spirit, who can 
bear ? " 

It is to be observed, thirdly, that conscience alone shuts 
out all anticipations of hope. 

Hope of future good is the great sustainer and cheerer of 
the human soul. It is only in the mere sports of the child, 
or in the low and degrading pleasures of the sensualist, that 
hope for the future does not enter as a chief element even 
into the seeming joys of the present moment. And to all 

18 



202 CONSCIENCE AS AN ORGAN OF PUNISHMENT. 

Tvilliout exception, the remembrance of the past is deeply 
tinged with regret, even when it is a remembrance of pleas- 
ure experienced, unless there be mingled therewith some 
bright colorings of hope. Under present adversity or suf- 
fering, the power of hope is still more remarkable. What, 
but some cheering anticipation of the future, could bear up 
the soul of man under bodily and mental distress which is 
sometimes felt ? And who can describe the greatness or 
sweetness of relief which is often imparted to the sinking 
mind, by a single ray of hope, cast over the gloom and dark- 
ness in which it had just been completely shrouded ! 

It is hope alone, that can alleviate the anguish of a soul, 
under the pains of self-conviction and self-reproach. But 
hope is the very emotion to which,, most of all, a condemning 
conscience is fatal. It is the fearful prerogative of con- 
science, when she rises in that resistless authority which 
God has given her in the soul, to banish every anticipation of 
future good. She tells the trembling sufferer of nothing in 
time past but guilt incurred, of nothing in time to come but 
woe deserved. Terrible indeed is the infliction she makes, 
when, as God's organ of punishment, she opens in the soul 
of the transgressor those springs of remorse, which are as the 
fountains of the great deep. But when even those are bro- 
ken up, when the self condemned spirit is, as it were, lashed 
by furious waves, beating over it, surge after surge, even 
then, in such a tempest, if the star of hope does but rise, and 
shed only a faint gleam over the darkness, it comes as with 
a magic spell to hold in check the raging storm, and may 
inspire the heart with courage to bear up till its tossings and 
buffetings shall be over. 

It is, however, as I have said, the prerogative of con- 
science, to take away entirely this alleviation and support, 
and to bury every gleam of hope in unchanging darkness. 
This completes the appropriate work of conscience. By 



CONSCIENCE AS AN ORGAN OF PUNISHMENT. 203 

this, she executes the last, the finishing part of her awful 
commission, and plunges the soul, amid all its most intense 
and bitter anguish, into the burning abyss of despair. 

But in this full work of conscience there is, sometimes, the 
bringing in of an everlasting hope through grace. In many 
happy instances, the sinner, having been awakened, alarmed, 
convinced of sin, filled with remorse and overwhelmed with 
utter despair, is not left forever to drink of this gall of bit- 
terness, but is led, by the renewing power of the Holy Spirit, 
to yield his heart to the gracious offers of sovereign mercy r 
and ere long he begins to be cheered with a hope of pardon 
and salvation through the atoning blood of Christ. Thus it is 
by the actings of conscience, that the holy law of God be- 
comes, as it were, a schoolmaster to bring sinners unto Christ. 

In a few melancholy cases, there can be no doubt, a state 
of despair is the result of bodily disease or of mistaken views 
of truth ; it is a disturhed and deranged iio^iiow of conscience 
bringing for a while nearly all the sufferings of a guilty rep- 
robate even upon the penitent and pious soul. Such was 
the case of the lovely but unhappy Cowper. An acute 
morbid sensibility of nerves, a lively imagination, a tender 
and affectionate heart, a deep sense of the guilt and ingrati- 
tude of all sin, and a profound reverence for the holiness of 
God being united with some speculative misapprehensions 
respecting the threatenings and the promises of the gospel, 
caused this amiable sufferer to pass many years of his life 
in a state of religious despair. Other similar cases no doubt 
occur, where the mind endures not the just vengeance of 
God inflicted through an enlightened and awakened con- 
science, but chiefly the painful consequences of disordered 
nerves, or the natural effects of an erroneous belief. 

In all such cases, however, the sorrow is but for a night. 
The sufferer's tears are soon changed into golden joys. His 
mourning, even if it continues until death, is but a prelude 



204 CONSCIENCE AS AN ORGAN OF PUNISHMENT. 

to rapturous hallelujahs. He goes at last to join in the song 
of the redeemed unto the Lamb that was slain, and that 
washed them in his blood. 

There are cases of a far different kind, even in the pres- 
ent life ; cases in which conscience anticipates the w^ork of 
the judgment-day, and the guilty victim is tormented with 
retribution before the time. 

True as it is, in a most important sense, " that while the 
lamp of life holds out to burn, the vilest sinner may return" 
to God and happiness ; it is also true that some sinners do in 
fact, before death, seal themselves over to final damnation ; 
so that being joined to their idols, God's will is to let them 
alone. They are given up to strong delusions, and it is 
impossible to renew them unto repentance. Sinners of this 
description have sometimes exhibited that utter despair of 
which I am speakinoj. Conscience, rousing in awful terror, 
has shut out every ray of hope, and the whole soul of the 
self-convicted wretch has been filled with one dreadful ex- 
pectation ; the certain fearful looking for of that fiery indig- 
nation which is to consume the adversaries of God. 

The dying scenes of the infidels, Voltaire and Paine, fur- 
nish instances, rendered most awfully revolting by the 
horrid blasphemies with which they uttered their despair. 
Familiar to all is the case of Sir Francis Newport, whose 
last breath was spent in crying out, " Oh ! the insupportable 
pangs of hell and damnation ! 

But whatever may be the workings of conscience in the 
bosom of the impenitent in this life, whether she scorches 
and burns every green and rising hope, or leaves the sin-^ 
ner to cheat himself with fallacious dreams of future peace 
as long as he lives ; at the moment of his death she performs 
her appropriate work. 

Whatever flattering and delusive hopes may have till then 
existed, will vanish at once in that dread instant, when h,u 



CONSCIENCE AS AN OKGAN OP PUNISHMENT. 205 

soul passes the bounds of time. Upon all the false lights, 
which self-love may have kindled and anxiously fed and 
fanned, conscience will then put down her fatal extinguisher 
and they will go out in everlasting darkness. Into the sin- 
ner's cup of sorrow, besides the bitter ingredients of self-con- 
viction and remorse, she will then cast the more bitter dregs 
of despair. 

Thus conscience at last gives the finishing stroke to her 
work of vengeance ; and the guilty mind enters upon its 
eternal retribution. 

Such then is conscience contemplated as the organ of pun- 
ishment in the soul of man. It is her prerogative in this ca- 
pacity to bring home to the mind the evidences of its own 
guilt, to inflict the pangs of self-reproach and remorse, and 
shutting out every ray of hope, to fill the soul with complete 
and everlasting despair. 

This consideration of the work of conscience, as the organ 
of punishment in the soul, may suggest several reflections. 
Three in particular, are selected. 

1. It may help to explain some remarkable facts in the con- 
duct of impenitent and irreligious men. 

The feverish restlessness of those, who have trod in the 
mazes of unprincipled vice and crime, is proverbial. It is 
not only noticed by the moralist and the philosopher, but is 
perpetually exhibited in the delineations of the poet and the 
novelist. History and biography also proclaim the general 
fact, in declaring the personal wretchedness of all the tyrants 
and oppressors of mankind. 

Some degree of the same uneasiness and unhappiness is 
very commonly exhibited by impenitent and irreligious per- 
sons in general. Nothing is more obvious to any man 
acquainted with the world, than the universal reluctance, 
among such persons, to be left to the reflections of their own 

minds, and to communion with their own hearts. The 

18* 



206 CONSCIENCE AS AN ORGAN OF PUNISHMENT. 

most frivolous amusements will be important enough to 
occupy the most gifted intellects for hours in succession ; or 
the most laborious and toilsome exertions will be cheerfully 
encountered again and again, if the mind can thus be kept 
from contemplating itself. Nothing is so irksome as self- 
examination ; nothing is more dreaded than to be alone, and 
to be without occupation. Shut the sinner in his closet, and 
although you utter not a word and give not a look to trouble 
him, and only leave him to himself, yet you will thereby 
make him wretched. 

Now we have the solution of this fact by the principles 
set forth in our present discourse. Every man has a con- 
science, and one of the appointed offices of conscience is, to 
be God's organ and instrument of punishment in the soul of 
man. And whenever the mind is left free to contemplate 
itself, and the memory of the past is of course revived, con- 
science is thereby summoned to her duty, and self-conviction 
and self-reproach are the unavoidable result ; and, where 
there is none of that hope which is based on genuine 
repentance and faith in Christ, there is nothing to soften the 
condemning sentence, nothing to alleviate and quiet the 
remorse. 

Very frequently, no doubt, the unhappy sufferer from this 
cause knows not what is his real ailment ; and he may talk 
sentimentally about the tedium and ennui of solitary life 
and argue vehemently in favor of active engagements, and 
the claims of kindred and friends, and our high obligations 
to all the social virtues, and thus may possibly come to 
imagine that his conscious dislike of silent retirement and 
leisure is but evidence of a benevolent regard to the good 
of society ; while the whole secret may be, and a great part 
of it certainly is, that he cannot endure that review of him- 
self, which memory almost invariably presents, as soon as 
the mind is disengaged from outward occupation. The 



CONSCIENCE AS AN ORGAN OF PUNISHMENT. 207 

uneasy restlessness, so commonly felt and observed, results 
from the agency of conscience. To escape this, the mind 
must be occupied with business, with pleasure, or with 
trifles. So great is 

'• the dread, 



The slavish dread of solitude, that breeds 
Eefleciion and remorse. 

The same principle may help to explain the complaint 
which is sometimes made against the benevolent exertions of 
evangelical piety. Why should your neighbor be angry at 
you for giving your money in order to send a bible or a reli- 
gious tract, or a devoted missionary to some heathen shore ? 
You take nothing from him ; you inflict nothing on him ; and 
yet your charity vexes him with a sore displeasure which he 
cannot conceal. And the reason, although it may perhaps es- 
cape Ms notice, is simply this : your benevolence is the occa- 
sion, which rouses his slumbering conscience to pierce him 
with a sting of reproach for his own habitual selfishness. In 
a similar way can we account, in a great measure, for the 
hostility often manifested towards plain and faithful preaching. 
Such preaching gives pain and little else to the impenitent 
hearer, because the whole tendency and scope of it is to bring 
oat in his mind that very agency of conscience which has now 
been described. How great is the pain, which is some- 
times thus occasioned, almost any one can testify, if he has 
enjoyed the unspeakable privilege of a gospel ministry. 
That which causes us pain, or awakens in us disagreeable 
emotions, soon becomes an object of our dislike ; and the 
cup or vessel, from which we have taken a disgusting medi- 
cine, becomes itself ugly and odious in our view. By 
a similar association, the peculiar truths of the gospel, 
and the devoted minister who plainly and boldly declares 
them, often become to ungodly men, hateful and hated 



208 CONSCIENCE AS AN ORGAN OP PUNISHMENT. 

things. This very issue of the preaching, however, shows 
both the efficiency of the doctrines and the necessity 
there is of urging them with unshrinking fidelity to God and 
to the souls of men ; and it also gives fearful confirmation 
to the divine testimony, that where the gospel fails to be a 
savor of life unto life, it must prove a savor of death unto 
death. 

The exertions, which some persons make to terminate 
revivals of religion and to prevent their companions from 
becbming pious, may likewise be traced in part to the same 
agency of conscience. The progress of a revival, and the 
conversion of companions, make such appeals to the con- 
sciences of all observers as must be felt, and yet cannot be 
felt without great pain and uneasiness. Every new instance 
of conversion reiterates the appeal and increases the unea- 
siness. The disturbed and harassed sinner, unwilling to 
seek relief by hearty repentance and humble faith, desires 
the end of the revival, as he would the silence of a voice, 
that should in every utterance audibly and publicly declare 
him a guilty criminal. 

Thus it is, that many very striking and remarkable 
things in the conduct of impenitent and irreligious men, may 
be solved by a consideration of the fact, that conscience is 
God's appointed organ of punishment in the human soul. 

2. Present ease of mind is no evidence that there will 
not be future anguish. The present peace may be but a 
deceitful slumber of conscience. Conscience may, for the 
present, be restrained from performing her retributive work. 
Conscience may be perverted, or be stupified and hardened. 
Ten thousand are the ways, as we have already observed, 
in which the mind may continue for a time to escape self- 
conviction and self-reproach. This respite from the chi- 
dings of the monitor within, may possibly be a protracted 
one. But, after all, should it even be prolonged for years 



CONSCIENCE AS AN ORGAN OF PUNISHMENT. 209 

upon years, this delay, be it ever so great, contains no secu- 
rity and involves no promise for the very next moment. 
The sinner, who has never yet felt a single touch of 
remorse, nor had the slightest sense of ill-desert, may, in 
an instant, be overwhelmed in the reproaches of his own 
mind. Although conscience has not as yet asserted her 
power in him, he still is not without a conscience, nor can 
he always escape her terrible authority. He carries about 
with him, wherever he goes, all her power ; and as he is an 
impenitent man, all her retributive power, as to him, is to 
curse and not to bless ; thus he ever holds in himself a 
magazine of wrath ; yea^ and while the sunny days of his 
seeming peace and quietness are passing away, he is contin- 
ually gathering into this magazine new stores of awful ven- 
geance, but thinks not of the terrible explosion and utter 
ruin which soon may come. He forgets the supremacy of 
conscience, and in a moment, which he looked not lor, she 
may enforce that supremacy with resistless sway and unmit- 
igated severity. Quick as thought itself, God may bid her 
to her work, and then the poor sinner, who has scarcely 
believed in her existence, finds that she is more terrible than 
a strong man armed, and he is compelled to cry out in 
agony, " the arrows of the almighty are within me, the 
poison whereof drinketh up my Spirit." 

" treacherous conscience ! while she seems to sleep, 

On rose and myrtle, lulled with siren song ; 

While she seems, nodding o'er her charge, to drop 

On headlong appetite the slackened rein, 

And give as up to license, unrecalled. 

Unmarked ; see, from behind her secret stand, 

The sly reader minutes every fault. 

Not the gross act alone employs her pen ; 

She reconnoitres Fancy's airy band. 

A watchful foe ! the formidable spy, 

List'ning, o'erhears the whispers of our camp ; 



210 CONSCIENCE AS AN ORGAN OF PUNISHMENT. 

Our dawning ■purposes of heart explores, 

-And steals our embr-yos of iniquity. 

Thus, with indulgence most severe, she treats 

Us, spendthrifts of inestimable time; 

Unnoted, notes each moment misapplied; 

In leaves more durable than leaves of brass, 

Writes our whole history ; which death shall read 

In every pale delinquent's private ear ; 

And judgment publish. 

^ ,iU M, i^ ,\t^ 

•TV' "7r TV" TV' •TT 

Lorenzo, such that sleeper in thy breast ! 
Such is her slumber ; and her vengeance such 
For slighted counsel ; such \hy future peace I 

And here we are brought to the third reflection, and the 
last w^e proposed to notice, suggested by considering 
conscience as God's organ of inflicting punishment in 
the human soul ; since it may teach ns. 

i5, how dreadful is the final condition of impenitent sinners* 

Their final and eternal punishment will involve at least, 
the full retributive operation of conscience ; whatever else 
may or may not be included in it, all this must be included, 
from the very constitution of the mind itself. 

Self-conviction, remorse and despair are the awful ele- 
ments of woe, which are mingled in the sinner's final por- 
tion ; they are the ingredients that fill the cup of the indig- 
nation and wrath of God Almighty, which he will give them 
to drink forever. 

But the indescribable misery, thus effected, must be eter- 
nally augmented by the relation which conscience bears to 
the heart. The apostate mind is at war with itself; it pre- 
sents a scene of internal discord and strife, in which con- 
science and the heart are the contending parties. In this 
warfare, the depraved heart is the aggressor. The heart 
begins the contest by exercising unholy and guilty emotions 
and desires. Then conscience, in discharge of the high 



CONSCIENCE AS AN ORGAN OF PUNISHMENT. 211 

commission God has given her as governor and guardian in 
the soul, issues her rebukes and reproofs. And now a per- 
ilous struggle is entered upon. The conscience and the 
heart of the sinner are at variance. His mind is a stranger 
to peace. Discord reigns there, the heart has its longings 
and conscience utters its decisions ; but the longings of the 
heart are utterly condemned and reprobated by the decis- 
ions of the conscience, and thus there is conflicting action 
and reaction. Quiet cannot be restored, until one party or 
the other shall yield. The heart must renounce its forbid- 
den desires, or the conscience must withhold her condemn- 
ing sentences. 

Sometimes, the heart yields ; it ceases to cherish the pro- 
hibited feelings, and submits to the supremacy of conscience, 
and harmony is restored to the soul ; and when the heart 
and the conscience are thus reconciled under the renewino: 
influence of the Holy Spirit, the mind is often filled with a 
peace that passeth understanding. It is a peace which is 
sweet and delightful, just in proportion as the conscience is 
lively and tender, and the heart is pure ; a peace which will 
finally issue in the full enjoyment of the blessedness of 
heaven. 

But if the heart refuses to yield, if it clings with glowing 
eagerness, as it too commonly does, to its guilty choices and 
wicked longings, then the strife is continued and increased, 
and must still longer and more violently agitate and rend 
the soul, unless conscience can be hushed and silenced. 
Sometimes, as we have seen, this hushing of conscience is 
effected in the present life. A seeming and partial quiet 
may thus, for a time, be secured. But there is by this 
means no lasting peace ; there is no genuine reconciliation 
between the conscience and the heart. It is but a delusive 
and treacherous armistice, or it is but a temporary retreat of 
conscience overpowered for a while by the violence and 
obstinacy of the heart. 



212 CONSCIENCE AS AN ORGAN OF PUNISHMENT. 

In the eternal world, tlie hostilities must be renewed. 
The light of eternity, poured in upon the conscience,will arouse 
her slumbering energies, and revive her fearful onsets upon 
the heart ; while the heart, removed from all the restraints of 
a state of probation, will only let out in redoubled fury its 
selfish desires and malignant passions. And now it is too 
late for a reconciliation ; it is too late for even an armistice ; 
there can be no suspension of the strife, no pause or inter- 
val in the awful contest. The sinner has nothing before 
him but a perpetual raging war in his own breast ; neither 
party will ever yield ; neither party will ever be destroyed ; 
the sinner will never give up his heart, and he can never 
throw aside his conscience ; each will be forever a part of 
himself, and each will perpetually gather new strength by 
exercise, and forever employ all that growing strength in 
carrying higher and higher the tempest of war in his soul. 
Each more vehement feeling of the heart will but be fol- 
lowed with a keener sting of remorse from the conscience ; 
and thus the sinner, wherever he may roam, over the im- 
mensity of space, and through the ages of eternity, must 
carry within him the fuel of the everlasting burnings, and 
must emphatically dwell with the devouring flames. 

In thoughtless levity, it is sometimes said, we need not 
be so much alarmed respecting future punishment, — that hell- 
fire, and the lake of brimstone are mere figures of speech, 
and not names of real things, that man has nothing to fear 
but his own conscience. Grant it to be so ; admit that the 
sinner has nothing to fear but his own conscience ; and I 
ask, is not this dreadful enough ? Who would not encoun- 
ter any possible outward infliction of woe rather than suffer 
the everlasting agonies of inward remorse ? And what 
flames of a material hell can be more torturing to the soul, 
than the ragings and burnings of that interminable strife 
between the conscience and the heart, which converts the 



CONSCIENCE AS AN ORGAN OF PUNISHMENT. 213 

soul itself into a spiritual hell ? What then, if there should 
be no actual prison of despair guarding the finally impeni- 
tent on all sides by walls of adamant ; what, if there should 
be no actual chains, binding the lost sinner in the fire pre- 
pared for the devil and his angels ! There certainly will be 
the sinner himself, be he wherever he may, and in whatever 
outward condition he may, there he is ; and he is himself 
with his own heart and his oiun conscience, and these create 
a hell, wherever he moves and whatever he does. And it 
is his hell, and he cannot escape out of it but by absolute 
annihilation. It is not a hell around him, but a hell within 
him. It is just as capacious as his own soul ; it fills him 
and he fills it, and he dwells in it, because it dwells in him ; 
and never will he be able to put himself out of hell, nor hell 
out of himself. After ages on ages, he will find it still true, 
that, 

*' The mind is its own place, and in itself 
Can make aheaven of bell, a hell of heaven.'* 



19 



SEEMON VIII. 

THE WONDERFULNESS OF MAN'S MENTAL 
CONSTITUTION. 



Tor I AM FEAKFULLT AND WONDERFULLY MADE ; MARVELOUS 
ARE THY WORKS, AND THAT MY SOUL KNOWETH RIGHT WELL. 

—Psalm, 139 : 14. 

The admirable structure of tlie human body is here set 
forth, as one of the marvelous works of God. Imperfect, un- 
doubtedly, was the knowledge of David respecting the anat- 
omy of man ; yet he perceived enough to awaken devout 
wonder and stimulate his heart to grateful praise. And had he 
fully understood the mechanism t)f the body, as it has been 
laid open by modern examination, he could have selected no 
language more appropriate to express the emotions excited 
by a view of it : " I will praise thee, for I am fearfully and 
wonderfully made ; marvelous are thy works." 

A marvelous work indeed, is the mortal frame of man \ 
A wonderful and a fearful structure ! So simple and yet so 
complicated ! Composed of countless minute and apparent- 
ly discordant parts, but forming one compact and harmoni- 
ous whole ! reared from the lifeless dust of the earth, but 
endowed with a mysterious' animation ! Clothed with beauty 



"WONDEKFULNESS OF MAN'S MENTAL CONSTITUTION. 215 

and majesty, yet soon turning to a putrid mass of corrup- 
tion ! frail and liable to be crushed before the moth, yet ca- 
pable of enduring the keenest extremes of heat and cold, and 
the fiercest storms of all the elements ! 

But the curious, complicated and admirable frame of our 
animated body, is not the whole of man ; nor is it all that is 
wonderful and fearful in him. He hath another part. " The 
inspiration of the Almighty hath given him an understan- 
ding P This nobler part of himself is recognized by the 
Psalmist in our text : " I am fearfully and wonderfully 
made ; marvelous are thy works ; and that my soidhnowetJi 
right wdl.^' 

The human soul is as truly a work of God, as the tene- 
ment of clay which it occupies on earth. God is the Father 
of our Spirits, as well as the former of our bodies. And 
when a man examines his immaterial part, when he consid- 
ers the nature of his own mind^ he may with the fullest pro- 
priety, and with a deeper meaning and emotion, exclaim : " I 
will praise thee, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made." 

The present opportunity will allow but a slight glance at 
some of the things pertaining to this subject of immense 
compass, 

I propose now to illustrate the position that the mind of 
man is wonderfully made. 

And here I advert j^rs^, to the simple fact, that the human 
mind is a substance or existence capable of knowledge. The 
mere capacity of having knowledge > is in its very nature 
something very wonderful. We are indeed as familiar with 
the capacity, as with the falling of a stone, or the rising of 
smoke, and it appears, on being mentioned now, as little 
wonderful. But in each case, it is the familiarity only, 
which destroys, or rather keeps out of sight, the wonderful- 
ness. Had we been conversant only with such bodies as 
juight remain stationary in the air, without rising or falling 



216 THE WONDERFULNESS OF MAN'S 

then the phenomenon of the ascending vapor or of the de- 
scending ball would appear no less wonderful, than the at- 
traction of the earth towards the sun, by the mysterious 
principle, of gravitation which binds together the material 
universe. So our familiarity with the power of the mind to 
receive knowledge, our constant exercise of the power, di- 
vests it of all real wonderfulness to our apprehension. 

But how amazing does it seems to us, when a mere brute, 
as a dog or a horse, after much laborious training by man, 
is rendered somehow capable of understanding certain sounds 
and gestures and of discriminating between ce?'tain visible 
forms ; as, for example, between the letters of the alphabet, 
so as to point them out when their names are pronounced. 
And what a prodigy would that animal be, which could not 
only learn the vocal names of a few visible objects, but could 
also apprehend the properties of a triangle, count the num- 
ber of its own limbs, and classify itself in genus and species, 
and deduce a law of matter from observation of facts. 

Such a supposition, however, falls wholly short of doing 
justice to my argument, because even the brute has some 
mind. 

What then would be thought of a watch, which, besides 
all its known capabilities as a piece of most curious me- 
chanism, should have the power of knowing the movements 
of its own hour and minute hands, and of those of all the 
other watchss in the shop where it might be suspended ; and 
should, when one of the others ceases to go, have the power 
to reason, concerning the cause of its stopping ; and having 
learned, that this stopping was on account of friction be- 
tween the wheels, owing to the want of a little oil, or to the 
presence of a little dust, should desire to be oiled, or should 
dread getting dusty ? 

Or what would you think of a tree, that could remember, 
wheu it was a sapling in the nursery, and how carefully it 



MENTAL CONSTITUTION. 217 

was transjDlanted to the orcliard, and how many bleak winds 
had there passed over it ; that could feel the shock when 
riven by the lightning, or perceive the fragrance of its own 
beautiful blossoms in the spring, or be conscious of the abuse 
perpetrated on it by the midnight plunderer of its autumnal 
treasures ? 

Do you say, that all this is absurd imagination ; for while 
mere matter, whether organized or unorganized, is necessa- 
rily destitute of thought and feeling, it is the very nature of 
mind to feel, and perceive, and know, and remember, 
and the like ? 

Indeed it is just so ; and this is the very thing which I 
would present to you as wonderful^ the mere capacity of the 
mind to feel and think ; to take knowledge of itself, and 
knowledge of other things. 

What surprise and delight are felt when a mirror for the 
first time reflects to year eye various images which fly in 
rapid succession over it ; or when, in passing by a smooth 
lake, or quiet river, you behold in its still depths a silvery 
picture of the trees, shrubs, flowers and animals, and what- 
ever else may be near the margin. But your mind is con- 
stantly reflecting images more various, and in a succession 
unspeakably more rapid, than can ever move upon any ma- 
terial mirror. Your mind is a transparent deep, in which 
are pictured vastly more things, tban can be clustered 
around all the lakes and streams of the earth. And what 
I refer to here as the great wonder^ is the strange attribute 
of consciousness belonging to your mind; the knowledge you 
have of all this. You take cognizance of these fleeting im- 
ages on your own soul ; you know, that these countless pic- 
tures and notions of things are your own thoughts and feel- 
ings. The mirror is conscious of nothing. The lake and 
river are conscious of nothing. All the motion and all the 
imagery, which they exhibit in the brightest and liveliest day, 

19* 



218 THE WONDERFULNESS OF MAN's 

are nothing to them, as truly and as absolutely nothing, as 
if it were ail one blank and silent midnight. But your mind 
is possessed of a mysterious attribute, by which you are con- 
scious of all the imagery and action which is on it and in it. 
All the beauty and life in the case, are your own felt forms 
and acting powers, parts and productions o/yourseif, seen 
and known hy yourself. 

Again, you have been filled with surprise and delight, 
when some of the properties of certain material substances 
have been exhibited to you — when, for example, the iron 
and the magnet have clung together, when the elastic balls 
have repelled each other, as if with instinctive hatred, when 
the boiling ether has turned water into ice, or when cold wa- 
ter, and even ice itself, has set on fire one of the metals. 
But I now direct your attention to a substance, which has 
the unspeakably more interesting and wonderful property of 
perceiving those curious phenonema of other substances ; 
and that is your own mind, which feels all the wonder which 
they excite. The iron and magnet join in close embrace 
themselves, but know nothing of the balls which fly apart, 
and neither they nor the balls admire or regard the myste- 
ries of the boiling ether, or the burning metal. But there 
is a substance, and one alone, which takes knowledge of the 
whole, and that is the mind. Your mind perceives and is 
delighted, and this is, in reality, the greatest phenomenon 
of all. 

The essential nature of the mind, then, as a substance ca- 
pable of consciousness and knowledge, shows that it is won- 
derfully made : " marvelous are thy works ; and that my 
soul knoiveth right well." Truly wonderful are all the ma- 
terial works of God ; but the soul, which hath a power to 
know their wonderfulness, is itself a more wonderful work. 
Justly may it be said, in the midst of all the wonderful phe- 
nomena and sights in the world, that of the beholder him- 



MENTAL CONSTITUTION. 219 

self, as a being capable of beholding and wondering, is by 
far tlie greatest wonder. When a man looks at the vast 
spectacle of the universe around him, and then contemplates 
himself as a conscious intelligence, he may well exclaim, as 
did the Genoese Doge at the splendid palace of Versailles : 
'' but what most I wonder at, is that /am here." 

In showing that the mind of man is wonderfully made, I 
advert secondly^ to the vast variety and boundless extent of 
the knowledge of ivJdch it is capable. 

With how much admiration, in physical science, do we speak 
of a piece of matter which has but a single remarkable pe- 
culiarity. What then would be our feelings, on discovering 
a substance, which should exhibit to us twenty or thirty of 
the most singular properties ever yet noticed in the whole 
field of science, all combined and constantly possessed by 
itself. 

Now the mind of man is, in a very striking sense, a sub- 
stance analogous to the one thus supposed. For all that 
immense variety of knowledge, which forms the distinction 
and the glory of the present age, is, in literal truth, nothing 
else than a countless, an almost infinitely diversified multi- 
tude of phenomena, exhibited by that one single substance, 
the mind of man. 

For what is knowledge or science ? That most exalting 
of the physical sciences, and called the " sublime science " of 
Astronomy, for instance ; what is it ? It is not constituted 
by the resplendent suns of the firmament, and their numer- 
ous planets, primaries and secondaries, with those grand 
ministers, the comets, which are sent on their long missions, 
perhaps from system to system in the immense republic of 
material worlds. All these bodies existed, so far as we 
know, just as they now do, in size, distance, specific gravity, 
revolutions and various changes and phases, all just as they 
now are, before the first man gave names to the animals in 



220 THE WONDERFULNESS OF MAN'S 

the garden of Eden ; all the present lights of the heavens, 
so far as we know, were then in being, the greater and the 
lesser lights of the firmament, the sun ruling by day and 
the moon and stars by night. But there was then no sci- 
ence of Astronomy. And how did it originate ? Did any 
movement of these suns and planets themselves produce it ? 
These bodies might have rolled on, just as they do, through 
inconceivable ages, and no such thing as this science could 
have arisen, had not the ynind of man^ by viewing, com- 
paring,* and inferring, given existence to the grand result. 
All that is truly lofty and ennobling in this most lofty and 
noble science is, in reality, itself a vast and wonderful 
phenomenon of mind. 

Just so it is with all other sciences, and all the various 
arts ; they are not merely, in the strictest sense, products, 
but truly also actual j^henomena, of the human mind. 

Considering, then, merely the amount of knowledge which 
the mind of man has already attained, and the variety of 
it, as including all the arts and sciences, must we not admit, 
that this thinking substance is most wonderfully made ? 
*' In the wonders of every art and science, man may trace 
the wonders of his own intellectual frame." 

Our view must not be limited, however, to the present 
attainments of man ; we must consider the vast progress 
which, as all believe, is hereafter to be made in discovery ; 
so great, probably, that the present knowledge of man, 
when compared with that which he may at some future time 
possess, shall appear more trivial than the scanty science of 
the half-civilized Scythian now does, in comparison with 
the most splendid acquisitions of the 19th century. 

Socrates, one of the best thinkers found among unin- 
spired men, speaks of the capacities of the human eye and 
ear, as matter of wonder, and as furnishing ample evidence 
of a wise design. *' How strange is it," says he, " that the 



MENTAL CONSTITUTION. 221 

ear should take in all possible sounds, and never be filled ; 
and that the eye should receive a vast multitude and variety 
of images, and be receiving new ones at every succeeding 
moment, and yet always be as free and as ready as ever to 
receive others still." 

But in this endless variety of sounds and images, of 
which the old sage thus speaks, we have only so many 
phenomena of the mind ; they are caused, indeed, by an 
outward world and through the medium of bodily organs, 
but they are yet purely mental phenomena ; and notwith- 
standing their immense number and variety, they are only 
the simplest elements of that knowledge, which the common 
mind soon acquires ; are, in reality, but a small part of 
those simple elements ; for, to say nothing of the intima- 
tions through the organs of smell and taste^ the mind gets a 
fund of elementary notions from the sense of touchy and 
from the muscular sense, which modern physiology has 
proved to be distinct from that of touch. 

Did the time and the occasion allow a particular notice of 
the different powers which the mind exhibits in its various 
acquisition of knowledge, its wonderful nature would be 
more fully shown. How truly wonderful is the power, by 
which the mind generalizes and classifies the countless and 
ever varying particulars that come to its notice, grouping 
and combining them under a few comprehensive principles 
and facts, and thus easily embracing in its knowledge a 
vast universe of things and relations, which it could not 
otherwise grasp, any more than a child could grasp in his 
single hand all the material orbs that roll in the immensity 
of space. 

How wonderful also, the powers by which, abstracting 
number and quantity from actual bodies, and imagining 
lines and points that occupy no space, and then drawing 
deductions from their necessary properties, the mind enables 



222 THE WONDERFULNESS OF MAn's 

itself to determine tlie distance of the stars, to measure 
the sun, and weigh the planets, as it were in scales. 

But it creates a feeling of sublimity as well as wonder, to 
consider what vast results are secured by the use of a single 
faculty or principle, which appears in itself very simple. It 
is a fact familiarly known, even to those who have no term 
to designate it, that whenever two feelings of the mind have 
virtually co-existed, the subsequent rise of either of them 
will instantly recal or excite the other. Thus one thing 
becomes indicative of some other thing, and from this sim- 
ple principle, originate all those wonders which the human 
mind exhibits in its power of using and interpreting signs. 
Language, in all its most curious forms, its thousand varieties 
of inflection and combination, with its beauty and mnjesty 
and almost boundless utility, springs from this simple prin- 
ciple. It is by this one principle, also, that we know all, or 
nearly all we know, respecting the material world ; for, in 
truth, the greatest part of all that we consider as belonging 
to the gross, tangible and visible things around us, is nothing 
but a reflection from our own souls, nothing but our owa 
past sensations and emotions and judgments, which are now 
so instantly and uniformly re-awakened by the mere pres- 
ence of these objects, that they seem to us to be the actual 
qualities and properties of the objects themselves. 

It is by this principle, simple m itself, but most astonishing 
in its results, that we all acquire the art of seeing, which is 
really an art, and has been justly, though paradoxically 
defined, as the " art of seeing things that are invisible ;" 
since by it we are able to see, and do daily see things that in 
reality cannot he seen ; because we instantly, by sensations 
of sight, get notions of the distance, size and figure af 
objects, although these notions are not, in fact, the direct 
result of the sensations, but are merely former judgments 
and feelings of the mind, obtained by other senses and now 



MENTAL CONSTITUTION. 223 

recalled bj association, or are mere conjectures, based on 
such reminiscences. And by the same principle, the blind 
man is enabled to touch, as it were, things that are utterly 
intangible ; since, for example, the slight tactual sensations, 
caused as he moves his fingers over the letters stamped in 
relief on his page, awaken in his mind the same thoughts 
and notions, which the slight visual sensations, caused as we 
move our eyes over the letters printed with ink on our jiage, 
awaken in us. Thus the mind o-athers its knowled2:e of the 
most distant events of the past and the future, and even of 
the grandest and most momentous truths of morality and 
religion, through a little motion in the nerves of the eyes or 
the fingers. Thus, a mere atom of fiesh, a particle of dust, 
as it were, conveys the voice of the Almighty to the soul of 
man. From an inch or two of paper, bearing a few black 
marks or a few elevated lines, we learn the origin of the 
universe and our own destiny beyond the grave ; we receive 
the command of Jehovah, " Thou shalt love the Lord thy 
God with all thy heart and thy neighbor as thyself;" are 
informed of the awful scenes of Gethsemane and Calvary ; 
are apprized of the fast coming judgment day and the retri- 
butions of eternity. 

The glance we have now taken in adverting to the vast 
variety and extent of human knowledge, the different pow- 
ers of mind developed in its acquisition, and the indefinite 
improvement of which they seem to be capable, may serve 
to show, that this thinking, spiritual intelligence is won- 
derfully made. 

But there is, thirdly, another aspect of the subject, which 
may exhibit the wonderful nature of the human mind, and 
that is, the 'povjer of mind over matter. 

No stress will here be laid upon that mysterioiig connection 
between the mind and the body, by which the former con- 
trols the voluntary movements of the latter, because this, 



224 THE WONDERFULNESS OF MAN'S 

wonderful as it is, does not distinguish man from the 
brutes. I refer to that power, by which man subjects the 
whole material world, animate and inanimate, organized and 
unorganized, to his own personal use and convenience. 
There is not a substance in all the earth's constituents or 
productions, which he does not somehow employ for him- 
self; not an animal or an insect which he does not convert 
in some way into a minister to his real or imaginary good ; 
not a principle or law of nature, which he does not make 
subservient to some personal purpose, as soon as it is dis- 
covered. 

What are all the varied and nameless comforts that belong 
to civilized society, as distinguished from savage, but so 
many different instances of the mind of man, turning the 
powers and susceptibilities of matter to accommodate his 
own wishes ? Some of these powers are of terrific energy. 
But the mind of man fearlessly puts them in bonds to do 
him service ; and with an obedience, as amazing for its sub- 
missiveness as for its efficiency, they act at his bidding. 
Fire and wind, the mighty ocean, steam and the lightning 
itself, wait, as it were, upon the will of man. The aston- 
ishing facilities for intercourse between distant places which 
now exist, and are daily becoming more numerous, and the 
extreme ease and the prodigious rapidity with which all the 
utensils and fabrics and multitudinous articles of utility, 
pleasure and luxury are now furnished to the world, are 
merely the results of this power of mind over matter. 
It is by this control over the most wonderful energies and 
capabilities of nature, that man is rendered emphatically, 
"lord of this lower creation.'' Thus, 

* * " Man is one world, and hath 
Another to attend him." 

And here, one cannot help thinking of the folly and athe- 



MENTAL CONSTITDTION. 225 

ism of that philosophy of ancient times, which represented 
matter as the fated enemy of man ; which loved to discourse 
of body and spirit as antagonist principles. If they have 
indeed been foes from eternity as such philosophy imagined, 
it is now obvious enough, that the spirit has gained the 
mastery, and is likely to hold it, and the more the gross 
things of sense shall resist the supremacy, the more strength 
for command will the mind gather from that very resistance ; 
since all the resistance that matter can make is, by disclos- 
ing its own properties and laws, and every new property or 
law thus disclosed, is instantly converted by the mind into a 
new servant and minister to itself. But it is a more enno- 
bling view, as it is the only rational view, which christian 
philosophy, the only true philosophy, now gives us of the 
case. This points out to us a most striking manifestation of 
the power, wisdom and goodness of God the Creator, in so 
accommodating to each other the nature of mind and the 
nature of matter. The adaptation is truly wonderful, 
and shows demonstratively, that " God, in constructing the 
vast mechanism of nature, overlooked not the humblest of 
its parts, but incorporated the good of our species, with the 
wider generalities and laws of a universal system." The 
properties and laws of matter are all fitted to subserve the 
purposes of the intelligent mind. Every new triumph over 
external nature, every new instance of a mastery acquired 
by man over the elements which surround him, is a new 
development of this interesting truth ; showing more fully 
how mind and matter have been adapted to each other ; " the 
first endowed by the Creator with those powers which qual- 
ify it to command ; the second no less evidently endowed 
with those corresponding susceptibilities which cause it to 
obey." 

Now here is the argument j the material world is indeed 

20 



226 THE "WONDERFULNESS OF MAN'S 

wonderfully made, and appears especially so in its adapted 
subserviency to mind ; but the mind appears thereby still 
more wonderfully made, as it is by its own nature fitted for 
such a command. 

And we must not overlook a peculiar consideration, that 
gives great force to the argument ; viz., the fact, that the 
material world is thus made to contribute to the interests of 
man, only by his applying to matter the results of long pro- 
cesses of abstruse calculation, the principles of the most 
abstract sciences, the pure inventions of the mind itself. As, 
for example, the position of the north star, the inclination of 
the earth's axis, and the polarity of the magnetic needle are 
material facts seized by the mind of man and made subser- 
vient to the business of navigation ; and who can describe 
the blessings which are secured to the human race, by this 
one instance of adaptation ? and yet, of what service could 
it be without the science of mathematics ? The expansive 
force of steam is now contributing immeasurably to the 
comfort of man ; and yet, of what use could it be without 
the intricate science of mechanics ? Thus it is by the help 
of its own pure abstractions, that the mind holds its sway 
over the powers of nature, and makes all the bodies in 
space, and space itself, to minister to its wishes. 

But perhaps it may be considered as a more wonderful 
thing in the constitution of the mind that, as I notice 
fourthly, it is made so as to be truly and perfectly an agent, 
and yet to be always conformed to certain and immutable 
laws. 

This does indeed appear to some a mere paradox, if not 
a contradiction, and most persons acknowledge a sort of 
mystery in it. But of the existence of the things in the 
constitution of the mind, there is no room for doubt, how- 
ever mysterious, paradoxical; or contradictory they may 



MENTAL CONSTITUTION. 227 

seem to any. That tlie mind of man, in the infinite multi- 
tude and variety of its thoughts and feelings, is governed by 
established laws, is not only a doctrine admitted by philoso- 
phers, but is a truth received by the whole common sense 
of mankind. A recognition of this truth is found in the 
structure of every human language ; an instinctive belief 
of it is implied in every attempt which any man makes to 
influence the minds of others, by motives adapted to their 
character. Most of these laws men may have, as yet, 
learned with less apparent certainty, than they have the 
laws of matter, and one reason may be, that man loves to 
study every thing else better than himself, his duty and his 
Creator. But that there are uniform laws of tnind, as truly 
as of matter, cannot be denied, even if it should be con- 
tended that they are not known, and never will be known 
with the certainty of science. For the very sceptic, who 
may assert that all the phenomena both of matter and of 
mind are but delusions and deceptions, must yet concede, 
that there are regular principles according to which these 
virtual falsehoods occur. 

And yet, the human mind is in the most perfect sense an 
agent. Although we are unable by personal remembrance, 
or observation, or in any other way, to trace any proof 
that it has any exercises prior to the sensations resulting 
from its connection with matter, and although all its mani- 
festations in this world are by means of the body, yet its 
earliest known acts and manifestations do evince, that it 
possesses an inherent activity, which is independent of ail dis- 
coverable influence of matter upon it. Emphatically is the 
mind an active substance. And what lano;ua2;e can de- 
scribe the degree of its activity? More rapidly than the 
lightning's gleam does thought fly beyond the limits of all visi- 
ble things, and glide from world to world in imaginary space. 



228 THE WONDERFULNESS OP MAN'S 

How complete, also, is the freedom of these movements ! 
Spontaneity appears to be the peculiar attribute. Free as 
the birds of heaven, or the air in which they fly, the thoughts 
come and go, and none can hinder. The mind, it is true, is 
always somewhat affected by its relation to the body, and 
its agency, so far as manifested to others through the body, 
may be suspended or controlled by an extraneous power. 
But, with this exception, the mind of man is not aware of 
ewistraint or restraint. It suffers neither. In an emphatic 
sense, it is its own master, and no earthly power can strip it 
of its inherent freedom. Although every one of its vary- 
ing and countless states exist, no doubt, in accordance with 
laws of succession, grounded in its own nature as created 
by God ; and although the Father of Spirits may and does 
rule with a perfect sway, after his own pleasure, the soul 
which he created and which he sustains, yet all this is done, 
without the slightest infringement of the peculiar freedom 
imparted by his Almighty power. Chains, dungeons, fire 
and sword, the wrath of man and the fury of the elements, 
may be employed to curb the free activity of the mind ; but 
it will be all in vain. Amidst the fiercest conflicts of 
nature, while the floods are engulphing all that material 
substance can furnish for its use, il may ride triumphantly 
and peacefully in the ark of its own etherial fabrication. 
Even above the ruins of a dissolving universe, it may soar 
aloft in its own free thoughts, as on an angel's wings. 

I will advert only to one particular more, in speaking of 
the human mind as wonderfully made, and that is, fifthly, 
tts capacity for enjoyment. 

Consider, for a moment, the enjoyment the mind is capable 
of deriving directly from the sensible world around us. 
Here, besides a wonderful structure of the mind, we see 
also, as has been already hinted, a most convincing proof of 



MENTAL CONSTITUTION. 229 

the goodness of God. The world of matter is not only 
adapted to the world of mind, but was evidently made for 
it. And without the perceiving and reasoning mind, what 
would be all this vast magnificence of created things, which 
science explores, and taste admires, and poetry celebrates, 
and all men enjoy. Even the heathen Seneca has remarked, 
that " outward nature would be as it were lost, without the 
intellectual principle to be made happy by it." By crea- 
ting the whole bright assemblage of existing worlds, God 
would only have formed an immense and gloomy solitude, 
had he not also created and placed therein the sentient mind, 
to which by a wonderful mutual adaptation, these worlds 
now impart such various delight. All the riches of the 
heavens and the earth would have been as nothing, because 
there would have been no one to inherit the treasure. 

" 'Twere wild profusion all, and bootless waste, 
Power misemploy'd, munificence misplaced, 
Had not its Author dignified the plan, 
And crown'd it with the majesty of man." 

But by forming the human mind as he has, and bestowing 
organs and senses to feel and perceive the outer world, he 
has at once converted that world into a most splendid and 
precious inheritance, and made in man a being fitted to 
enjoy it. And it is the sentient and enjoying mind, which 
imparts to it its splendor and value. For in reality, our 
own minds throw over the forms of matter around us that 
very beauty and glory, which we look upon them as possess^ 
ing inherent in themselves. Thus, 

" Like Milton's Eve, when gazing on the lake, 
Man makes the matchless image man admires." 

And there is truth as well as poetry in the statement, that 
it is the " senses " of the mind itself, which 

20* 



230 THE WONDERFULNESS OF MAN*S 

^ * "(/jue the riches they enjoy ; 
Give taste to fruits and harmony to groves ; 
Their radiant beams to gold and gold's bright sire. 

And I ought not to overlook, in this connection, the pecu- 
liar and elevated pleasure which the soul of man is capac- 
itated to find in that observation of the outward world and 
its scenes, which poets call communion with nature. This 
pleasure, although felt in the highest degree by persons of 
the most cultivated taste, and of peculiarly quick sensi- 
bilities, is yet in some degree common to all. The swain 
returning " homeward from a summer day's long labor," 
will often 

* ^ " loiter to behold 
The sunshine gleaming, as through amber clouds, 
O'er all the western skyj" 

and although he cannot explain his feelings, nor talk of the 
" form of beauty smiling at his heart ;" yet his very actions 
show, that he has the peculiar pleasure to which I refer. 
The soul of man and outward nature are mutually attuned 
for a harmony, and even the unlettered peasant and the wild 
savage do sometimes feel the sweet music that may thus be 
made. Where there is a higher culture, the pleasure is, of 
course, more frequently and more vividly experienced, and 
more is known of that 

# * "mysterious feeling which combines 
Man with the world around him, in a chain 
Woven of flowers and dipped in sweets." 

But, in the next place, consider the enjoyment which the 
mind may derive from the different pursuits and studies, by 
which, (as has been already noticed), it is capacitated to 



MENTAL CONSTITUTION. 231 

advance in knowledge and power. And what enumeration 
can sum up the various pleasures, the joyful happy emo- 
tions, which the mind is thus fitted to experience, and which 
it actually does experience, as it traverses the wide fields of 
observation and thought, through which it is permitted to 
roam at will ? What language can describe the degree of 
the enjoyment, it may draw from these many fountains ? 

Yet again consider, there are other and better joys. All 
this treasure of intellectual happiness, is far less than that 
which the mind is adapted to gather from virtuous disposi- 
tions and benevolent efforts to promote the welfare of others. 
God has so constituted man's mind, that the temper which 
w^ould give, and the resulting act which does give, but a cup 
of w^ater to a thirsty fellow-creature, never goes unrewarded. 
Hereby, indeed, self-denial, sacrifices and sufferings are 
converted into so many seeds of happiness, which yield 
each an abundant harvest, pouring into the bosom their 
joyful fruits, even more than the promised hundred fold. 
Thus it is that genuine charity always rewards itself, and 
he that watereth is himself watered more abundantly. 

Nor does this exhaust or fill up the soul's capacity for 
happiness ; for consider in the fourth place, there is for it a 
still higher good ; and that higher good is nothing less than 
the blessedness of supreme love to God, a joy that is un- 
speakable and full of glory. 

Thus wonderful is the mind's capacity for happiness. In 
the first dawn of existence, it finds gratification in the 
pleasures of sense, which, it must be confessed, are com- 
paratively low, even when they are innocent ; when culti- 
vated by science and letters, ten thousand new and nameless 
joys are thrown within its eager grasp ; and more than all, 
whenever it is brought to act under the golden law of good 
wall to man, and is drawn and bound to the throne of God 
by the sweet bonds of holy love, then does it come to the 



232 THE WONDERFULNESS OF MAN'S 

wells of living water, to the fountain of unalloyed and un- 
ending joy. And here, although the measure may be filled, 
the capacity will not be exhausted ; on the other hand, 
reason and inspiration agree in teaching us, that it may be 
constantly enlarged. " In my love to God," said a saint of 
former days, "I shall find an overflowing fullness that will 
fill up the most capacious and intense graspings and out- 
goings of my love ; a fullness that will continue to all eter- 
nity ; a fullness that will satisfy my soul and yet increase 
my love. New and higher discoveries will be let in unto 
me, which my soul shall everlastingly pursue, and in pursu- 
ing, enjoy with delight and blessedness." 

To what degree the blessedness of a human soul may 
thus gradually be raised, who can tell ? Who shall venture 
to assign any limits to the everlasting increase ? Even 
sober and cautious reasoners have thought it no extravagance 
to affirm, that every accountable human mind possesses sus- 
ceptibilities of enjoyment, capable of being so enlarged, 
that its own actual happiness might at some future point 
of its prolonged existence truly and literally surpass the 
amount of happiness yet experienced by the whole mass of 
intelligent creatures combined. 

Thus wonderfully are we made. Added to all the won- 
ders of our bodily structure are the many and far greater 
wonders of our mental constitution. At a few of the latter 
I have glanced. 

And here ihejlrst reflection naturally suggested by our 
subject is, that it is in the attributes of the human mind^ 
rather than in the material universe around us if taken 
alone, that we find the highest exhibition of the -power and 
goodness of God. 

When we consider man simply in his bodily structure 
and as a mere animal, there is much that is truly wonderful 
and admirable. Yet, when compared with the variety, vast- 



MENTAL CONSTITUTION. 233 

ness and masrnificence of the rest of the material universe, 
he appears a little insignificant fraction. In taking such a 
view, it is natural to exclaim with the Psalmist, " When I 
consider the heavens the work of thy hand, the moon and 
the stars which thou hast made, what is man that thou art 
mindful of Mm, or the son of man that thou dost visit him ?" 

But when we consider man in his intellectual, rational 
and moral nature, and think of his capacities for knowledge 
and happiness, all the vastness and all the splendor of mere 
forms of matter appear mean; and it is then that man is 
seen to be in truth but " little lower than the- angels, and 
crowned with honor and glorj." It is then that we see the 
divinity shining in him and reflected from him. In the very 
powers and capacities of his own mind, every man carries 
with him, perhaps, the fullest and most convincing proof, if 
he would but consider it, of the power, wisdom and good- 
ness of the Infinite Father of Spirits. 

The subject, it may be remarked secondly, brings to view 
the intrinsic dignity and value of every human soul. 

No one can think too much of the heaven-born greatness 
of his own soul. Let each one often ask himself, wherefore 
did my Creator form me with such wonderful capacities for 
knowledge, power and happiness ? Was it that I might 
degrade and destroy myself by ignorance, folly and sin ; 
that I might be willing to grovel in the dust, and live and 
die like the beasts that perish .'* The very constitution of 
the mind as glanced at in this discourse, is proof that the 
Creator designed man for nobler ends. 

Hence, it is obvious, I would remark thirdly and lastly, 
that the religion of the gospel is the only thing which offers 
to the mind a good adequate to its nature. 

The gospel fully recognizes the soul of man as possessing 
the amazing capacities for knowledge and happiness, at 
which we have glanced. No human scheme of religion Las 



234 THE WONDERFULNESS OP MAN'S 

ever done it, except in a very partial degree. False reli- 
gions, although they may often flatter human pride, do 
never, after all, pay such homage, either to the intellect or 
the heart of man. They seek to satisfy the soul with 
something below the measure of its lofty capacities. But 
the Bible offers just the only possession which can meet and 
supply the wants of the human soul; the Bible brings the 
very portion, that suits its heavenly origin and its inextin- 
guishable desires for something that is infinitely great and 
infinitely good. 

Thus, the gospel calls upon man to rise in holy aspirings 
after truth, and godliness and happiness ; it urges him to 
cultivate all the powers God has given him. It bids him 
feed his understanding with knowledge and wisdom, and 
expand his heart with generous love to his kindred and fel- 
low creatures ; and above all, it teaches him, by faith in 
Christ the Redeemer, and by supreme love to God, to fill 
his soul with heavenly hlessedness. 

Here, my friends, is the only portion that is fully ade- 
quate to the capacities and necessities of your own minds. 
Should you possess the world and all its treasures, could 
you call the stars your own and yours all created things and 
beings, it would still leave in your soul a distressing want. 
Grasp all that exists through infinite space, and yet there is 
in your immortal soul " an aching void ;" and nothing can 
fill it, but just the portion offered by the gospel. To know 
God and Jesus Christ, whom He hath sent is eternal life ; 
here is the study, which more than equals your capacity for 
knowledge ; and here alone is the fountain of joy, that can 
always fill your capacity for happiness. That gospel which 
binds on you the command, and bestows on you the grace, to 
love the Lord your God with all your heart and mind and 
strength, does but afford you the very thing which your own 
soul requires as its appropriate, and necessary, and only 



MENTAL CONSTITUTION. 235 

sufficient good. Eeject, then, the offers of the gospel, put 
any thing -whatever in the place of Jesus Christ and the 
Father who sent him and the Holy Spirit shed forth from 
them, and you strip your own soul of its essential portion ; 
you do, as it were, disinherit yourself ; and thus, with infinite 
folly and guilt, reduce yourself to a remediless and eternal 
beggary. 



SERMON VIII. 

THE FEARFULNESS OF MAN'S MENTAJ. 
CONSTITUTION. 



For I AM FEARFULLT AXD WONDERFULLT MADE ; MARVELOUS 
ARE THY works; AND TH4.T MY SOUL KNOWETH RIGHT WELL. 

—Psalm 139:14. 

We have already glanced at some of the peculiarities of 
our mental constitution, which serve to show how wonder^ 
fully we are made as spiritual beings. 

But we cannot fully or properly apprehend the wonder- 
fulness of this constitution, without considering also its fear- 
fulness ; for we are msAo, fearfully as well as wonderfully. 
While the amazing capacities for knowledge, power and 
happiness, to which we have adverted, are suited to fill us 
with admiration of the greatness of every human mind, there 
are some other peculiarities, which may well fill us with 
trembling. 

The, first thing I would here notice is, that the capacity 
for enjoyment is accompanied by a fearful susceptibility of 
suffering » 

It is unnecessary to enlarge on this point. No one can 
pass many days among the dwellers in this world of sin and 



FEARFULNESS OF MAn's MENTAL CONSTITUTION. 237 

misery and be ignorant of the capacity of the mind to suf- 
fer ; and whatever amount or height of joys is compre- 
hended in the story of his life, it will contain a chapter <:^ 
sorrows more or less numerous and keen. And when the 
most distressing tale of history has been told, (and there 
are tales of actual suiFering, tales literally and exactly true, 
w^iich it almost chills the heart's blood to hear), but when 
the most soul-harrowing among them is told ; and even 
when the almost illimitable power of imagination has 
framed its gloomiest story of fictitious woe, there is no one 
who is no^t still aware, who must not still believe that the 
SGul of man is capacitated to suffer and may perhaps suffei* 
to an immeasurably greater degree ; that there is no con*- 
ceivable pang of sorrow, but there may be another mor^ 
dreadful pang ; no conceivable agony of despair or remorse, 
but there may be another more agonizing still ; and no con- 
ceivable duration of wretchedness, but there may be a 
wretchedness more enduring. Good and wise men have 
avowed it as their sober conviction, that there is not an 
accountable mind on earth, whose susceptibilities do not 
involve in them a liableness to suffer, at some future period 
of existence, a degree of misery actually greater than would 
be constituted by all the vario^us sufferings ever yet experi- 
enced in the universe of God, were these gathered into one 
concentrated mass of woe and heaped upon a single mind. 

But let me observe secondly^ that this constitution of the mind 
appears the more fearful, when we think of its immortality. 

Possessing such capacities as have been specified, and 
destined to an unending existence, during which these 
capacities of happiness and of misery may never cease 
becoming more and more enlarged, and with a mere proba- 
bility that one or the other capacity, however enlarged, must 
constantly find its corresponding measure of bliss or woe, is 
not the mind of m^oi fea^fiully m^ade? Suppose there were 

.21 



238 THE TEARFULNESS OF MAN'S 

nothing but tlie experience of the present life and the prob- 
abilities growing out of it, to decide our expectations respect- 
ing the distant future of such an immortality ; who, that 
will reflect for a moment, can avoid solemn and fearful ap- 
prehensions, as to what is before him ? 

How short-sighted a philosophy was that vaunted stoicism 
of ancient times, which bade its disciple seek deliverance 
from suffering by destroying his animal life ; for he did not 
thereby remove either the sufferer or the cause of suffering. 
He merely effected a change in the external circumstances of 
his mind; that mind, which was the only real sufferer, and 
in fact carried in itself the only essential cause of suffering, 
must still exist, still be under the same immutable laws, and 
possess the same free activity, and retain the same fearful 
capacities, which had belonged to it while imprisoned in the 
body. Had the Stoic but reflected once more, he might 
have seen that his recklessness of life, in which he gloried, 
had as little of wisdom in it, as the most pitiful contrivance 
or shift to which any vulgar mind ever resorted in order to 
get rid of misery. 

Nor is that philosopher any wiser now, who clings to tins 
life, but strives during its continuance to soothe his heart 
under suffering and sorrow by the expectation that, when 
the present life is ended, his susceptibilities of misery or 
his liabilities to its actual endurance will, as a matter of 
course, be eradicated from his mind. What philosophy, but 
that of a deceived heart, has taught him, that the grand 
laws of his mind will ever be changed ? And how fearfully 
made does he find himself, when he examines his mental 
frame, and learns more clearly from the Bible the nature of 
his own soul ! Destined to an eternal existence, whether he 
wishes it or not, bound by the essential laws of liis nature in 
spite of himself ; with amazing joys placed in his reach, it 
is true, but at the same time overhung with awful probabili- 
ties of immeasurable sufferings ! 



MENTAL CONSTITDTION. 239 

"What reason is there to exclaim unto man, in the lan- 
guage of Gritfin, " Heir of immortalitj, bow before thine 
own fearful majesty !" What a measureless value does thy 
immortality impart to thy soul. And what dread solemnity 
is attached to all thy acts, and to every thing around thee. 
"The sun, moon and stars appear solemn in shining; the 
earth, the concave, and all nature seem to borrow the 
solemnity of eternity ; and this world appears as it were 
the cradle in which the soul is rocked for immortality." 

Another most fearful thins: in the mind's constitution will 
b 8 mani fe st , _, . , ■ ,:• j^ 

In the third placed contemplate more fully the fixed con- 
nection^ which exists 'in it, hetween its own moral states or ex- 
ercises and their retributive consequences. 

God has formed the mind a moral and accountable agent. 
And whatever other retribution he may bring upon it here, 
or hold in store for its experience in another world, he has 
established a connection, or order of succession, in its own 
thoughts and feelings such, that a right moral exercise or 
affcvition is, when fairly reviewed, followed by a sentiment 
of self-approbation more or less conducive to happiness, 
while every wrong exercise or affection is, when fairly re- 
viewed, followed by a sentiment of self-condemnation more 
or less productive of misery. No truth in the whole circle 
of science is better ascertained than tliis. Not more certain 
is it that, if you pierce your hand with a thorn, you will feel 
the smart, than that if your mind incurs guilt by an im- 
moral, vicious or unholy act, it will feel the sting of con- 
science. The connection which observation of human life 
and personal experience shows to exist between sin and 
misery, some how or other resulting as a general conse- 
quence, might properly be mentioned as a fearful, thing in. 
the constitution of the human mind ; but I pass by that 
liere, and point merely to the retributions of conscience. 



240 THE FEARFULNESS OF MAN'S 

How wonderful a structure of mind, that tlie offender should 
be at once both his own judge and punisher. And who can 
tell how fearful it is ? Can human language depict the 
horrors of remorse ? Let it be observed that I speak now 
not merely of the souFs liability to suffering, and to suffer- 
ing in the extreme degree ; but I speak of the certain ty, 
the absolute certainty that it will suffer remorse, if it in- 
dulge in vice or sin. 

As already remarked, nothing in the whole compass of 
human science is more certain, than this connection. The 
anguish does not indeed always instantly follow the guihy 
act. But it is sure to come ; the interval may be long, but 
the suffering may be none the less severe ; often it is but 
the keener. Conscience may be bushed into a sort of 
sleep, and this torpor may perhaps be prolonged for years ; 
but conscience cannot be put into an eternal sleep ; the 
maker of the mind has formed it otherwise ; conscience will 
after all awake, and when she does, she may prey upon the 
soul with augmented vengeance. 

In order to have any adequate view of this topic, we must 
advert to the principle of memory as a part of our mental 
constitution. Every child knows what memory is ; and yet 
no philosopher can unravel its fearful wonders. Without 
memory, all the past would be a mere blank to us, and 
more than half of all the present would be annihilated. 
Yet why is it, and how is it, that thoughts and feelings? 
which we have once had and have subsequently forgotten, 
are again brought back to the mind ? The power of recall- 
ing former impressions is so constantly exercised by us, we 
are so constantly using our memory, that the very frequency 
of the thing conceals from us the mystery of it. And it is 
only when some instance is presented of a person gifted 
with unusual powers of memory, or when our own memory 
recalls some past thought or feeling, which has been hurie4 



MENTAL CONSTITUTION. 241 

in oblivion for a long period, that the capacity strikes ns as 
peculiarly wonderful. But wonderful as this capacity is, it 
is a constituent and essential element of the human mind. 

Whatever thought or feeling it ever has once, that thought 
or feeling may at a subsequent period be recalled. And 
while, as was just hinted, the greatest portion of all our 
happiness is connected with this principle, the principle is as 
fearful as it is wonderful. The guilty thought or feeling, 
which even for once contaminates the mind, 7nay he recalled. 
Let that guilty mental operation be forgotten, and no remem-* 
brance of it occur for months and years afterwards ; still it 
may subsequently be remembered. The mind is constituted 
with a capacity to have its past feelings recalled to itself. 
Let it once have a feeling, and it is liable to remember that 
feeling. No lapse of time, no combination of circumstances 
can destroy the liability. The fleeting emotion of the 
present moment is liable to be recalled and remembered a 
thousand years and a thousand ages hence. 

The mind is thus formed by God, and no mind can divest 
itself of this capacity, and the fearful liabilities which it 
involves. By various artifices the mind may, it is true, 
get occupied with other things, so that a past guilty affec- 
tion shall be long kept in oblivion. Tear after year may 
pass, and perhaps age after age may elapse, and no remem- 
brance of it be once awakened in all that period ; and yet, 
as already affirmed, a remembrance of it may be subsequently 
awahened. The very next thought of the mind may be 
that remembrance. How often is the past thus suddenly 
and unexpectedly called up to our view ! And how often, 
too, upon such, sudden recollections, does conscience as sud- 
denly start from her slumbers and lash the guilty soul with 
her whip of scorpions. Thus fearfully has God made the 
mind of man. And the rapidity, with which memory may 
read over the catalogue of the past, must not be overlooked, 

21* 



242 THE FEARFULNESS OF MAN^S 

in this connection. Astonishing facts have occurred, which 
illustrate this rapidity. Persons resuscitated after drowning, 
have testified respecting their thoughts during the ten or 
fifteen minutes between their first exposure to the danger 
and their loss of consciousness ; and some, perfectly credi- 
ble and competent as witnesses, have declared that, in those 
few minutes, the whole history of their preceding lives was 
brought into full view by the rapid action of memory. 
Now such facts go to show, that memory may act with the 
rapidity of lightning ; and that the mind which has long 
been occupied with business and pleasures, may suddenly 
be filled with the remembrance of its own guilty thoughts 
and feelings, long ago indulged and ever since forgotten ; 
and that these remembrances may rush in upon the mind with 
such amazing quickness, that the sins of months and years 
may be recalled in the space of a moment. What a crowd of 
woes, what a weight of anguish may thus be gathered and 
pressed into the consciousness of an instant ! " Never do a 
base thing," says a heathen moralist, " for should others not 
know it, you will still yourself he conscious of it?' A more 
philosophical precept was never given ; it is based on the 
essential nature of the mind. What though a wrong deed 
or feeling escapes all human detection, and what if even 
the Almighty and Omniscient God should not notice it, still 
it is a part of the guilty man's own consciousness ; and for- 
ever after the man is liable to all the misery of recogniz- 
ing it as such. By the first doing it or having it, he 
made it 2ipart of liimself and he has no power always to 
conceal himself from himself. Here is the peculiarity in 
the structure of the mind which we would dwell on, as both 
wonderful and fearful. The mind is a mirror reflecting 
itself back to itself, and thus clearly seeing its own real self, 
and TcQenly feeling the slightest deformity of the image. 
Q-uilty thoughts or feeling', subsequent remembrance of 



MENTAL CONSTITUTION. 243 

them, and self-reproach or remorse thus excited ; these 
things God has joined together in the constitution of the 
mind. 

It adds to the fearful ness of the peculiarity just pointed 
out, that the mind, having once incurred guilt and conse- 
quent remorse, has no relief except by aid from without 
itself. While the mind remains pure and holy, free from 
wrong and free from guilt, no power can inflict upon it real 
misery ; but when it has once embraced sin, no power but 
the Almighty can take its misery off. Ages of deepest sorrow 
could not extract the poison, nor allay its burning agony. So 
far as all experience of the nature of remorse and despair can 
testify, the longer they continue, the more they must ope- 
rate to perpetuate and increase themselves. The gospel 
points us to the only source of deliverance ; there is none 
in the mind itself, depending on its own resources ; but the 
blood of Jesus cleanseth from all sin ; by a suitable reliance 
on this, (so a God of compassion and love has ordained it), 
the gloom of despair may be transformed into the bright- 
ness of the good hope that is through grace, and the agony 
of remorse be changed into the peace that passeth all un- 
derstanding, into the joy that is unspeakable and full of 
glory. But it must not be imagined, that this gratuitous 
provision of the divine mercy diminishes at all the fearful 
responsibilities of the mind. It rather augments them; for 
observe, it is only by connection with the actual states and 
exercises of the mind itself, I say not its self-caused, but its 
own moral act and states, that the blood of atonement is 
available to restore peace and healing to the guilty and suf- 
fering soul. There must be a hearty reliance on the provis- 
ion, and this is an act and state of the mind itself ; and the 
reliance must also be seasonahh ; if it be delayed beyond a 
certain period in the mind's disease, not even the blood of 
Jesus can heal or soothe the wounded spirit. The fiery 



244 THE FEA.RFULNESS OF MAN'S 

retributions of conscience must then settle on the soul be- 
yond the possibility of removal, and the very neglect to 
embrace the one available remedy will but render those 
retributions the more terrible ; because that neglect, being 
itself a flagrant sin, will engender its own corresponding re-' 
morse hy that very law of mind, whose amazing fearfutness 
we have now contemplated. And if the light which shone 
upon the soul, is thus by the soul itself turned into darkness, 
how terrific a darkness must it be ; if the offered cup of 
blessing is thus converted into a cup of anguish, how dread-- 
ful must be that anguish ! 

Another fearful feature in the mental constitution re- 
mains to be noticed, in the fourth place- 

It is the rapid formation and almost resistless influ- 
ence of habit. The mind of man is so made that, whatever 
may be the order in which the thoughts and feelings onc^ 
occur, there is some sort of a tendency for them thus to 
occur again. Repeated occurrence in this order increases 
the ease and probability of subsequent repetition, until at 
length a positive certainty of such repetition is the result ; 
and the mind then is under the control of what w© call an 
established habit. No theme of remark is more common 
than the power of habit. It affords matter alike for school- 
boy declamation, and for the closest analysis of the philoso- 
jDher. Here we advert to it, only to consider, that it is a 
fearful thing in our intellectual frame. All its amazing in- 
fluence may indeed be enlisted on the side of truth, virtue 
and happiness. But melancholy facts show that it may 
also become a foe to each, and, in a terrible subserviency to 
error, vice and misery, make utter ruin of the soul. 

Nor is it simply when you contemplate the miserable and 
degraded sensualist, the vile slave to his lusts and appetites, 
that you see the fearful consequences of habit. The pitiful 
miser is but a victim of habit. The man under the swav of 



MENTAL CONSTITUTION. 245 

unprincipled ambition lias been formed only by successively 
yielding to an ungodly desire. The hardened thief or mur- 
derer has become such only by repeated transgression. 
The procrastinating sinner, at length turned into a repro- 
bate, has not descended to such a depth in guilt by one reck- 
less leap. Step by step, no doubt imperceptibly to himself, 
has he thus gone down to the very gate of hell. 

The ease, the imperceptibleness, and the rapidity with 
which the mind may form an evil habit, all add to the fear- 
fulness of this principle. Link upon link does the mind 
join to that chain, which is to hold it in eternal bondage, 
while it scarcely dreams what it is doing ; thread after 
thread, while it heeds it not, is added to that drapery of 
death which it is thus weaving for itself. 

We shudder at the public, notorious wrecks of character 
and reputation, which every observer of human life may see 
around him, as so many blazing beacons to warn him 
against the deceitful power of habit. But how little does 
any such observer think, that in every instance in which he 
indulges one forbidden thought or feeling, however secret 
and however slight it may be, he, in principle, runs the 
awful hazard of a similar and even a more infamous 
ruin. As little does the unwary youth, when he takes 
the first step in the path of error or folly, imagine haw 
soon he will find himself wholly lost in the darkness and 
intricacy of a labyrinth, from which there is no escape. 

It deserves our notice here, that such is the constitution 
of the mind, that the formation of one habit renders still 
more easy and probable the formation of other Mndred 
habits ; a fact which augments the fearfulness of the prin- 
ciple under consideration. Rarely, if ever, will you meet 
with a mind under the sway of a single, solitary vice or soli- 
tary virtue. The practice of one leads readily to the prac- 
tice of others. When the mind then admits any one train 



246 THE FEARFULNESS OF MAN's 

or succession of criminal thoughts and feelings to repeat 
the dangerous visit to the sanctuary within, it virtually con- 
sents to become a nest of many unclean birds ; it infolds in 
its embrace a whole brood of vipers ; it opens the door for 
the entrance of a spirit, who will never depart himself, but 
for a season, and then only to return and find his chamber 
swept and garnished to receive the seven conjenial spirits 
that will surely attend him. 

And you have not conceived the whole fearfulness of this 
part of the mental structure, until you consider that it is by 
the power of habit and by this alone, that the mind has 
control of its own character and its own destiny. Active, free 
and independent of all other creatures, as is the immortal 
thinking substance, it is as I have already said under laivs, 
the laws imposed by the Creator himself, the laws of its own 
nature and constitution, and to these it must yield; it has 
no power and it can acquire no power to alter them, any 
more than to alter the laws of the physical world. The 
mind controls matter only by conforming to the laws of mat- 
ter ; it can control other minds only by operating upon them 
in accordance with the laws of mind ; and it can control 
itself, only by obedience to these laws. Your mind, there- 
fore, is but the exposed victim of accident, or necessity, or 
malicious superior power, so far as your ability goes, except 
as you put and keep it under the protection of its own 
laws. And how will you do it, except by availing yourself 
of this principle of habit ? Or rather tell me, how will 
your mind be protected /rom ^Vse//*, but by the formation of 
right, good, or virtuous hahits ? Habits it will form and 
7niist form ; habits it is forming every instant of its earthly 
probation. And if these habits are evil, we have already 
seen, that an immutable law of its nature ensures its mise-' 
ry, and in another principle or law of its nature we have 
seen, that this misery must become intense beyond all 
power ot description, and be of endless duration. 



MENTAL CONSTITUTION. 247 

Amazing and fearful structure ! Uncler the sway of a 
principle ever acting thus imperceptibly, and thus easily 
and rapidly sealing it over to a character and destiny un- 
speakably wretched ; and yet dependent on the same princi- 
ple for an escape from this dreadful issue, and by the very 
same principle capacitated to secure an exceeding and eter- 
nal weight of glory ! 

Who, then, that believes himself to possess a mind, will 
not, with the most trembling solicitude, watch and guide its 
risino' habits ? 

And who needs to wonder, that the wise father or mother 
feels so keenly anxious to know, what are the mental and 
moral habits of the child ? In these they read that child's 
destiny. And who should complain of the guardian and 
teacher and friend, if they lift the cry of warning and 
alarm when they see the first aberration of the youthful 
mind ? They know that, by that first wrong deed, the 
young mind virtually throws itself away, that the voyager 
for eternity thereby begins to put himself at the mercy of 
winds and waves ; that he gives np his soul to that moral 
derangement, in which, like a hopeless cancer, it preys 
upon itself; that he does that which will turn, what might 
be a seraph's flame of peace and blessedness, into the lurid 
fires of a volcano. 

And here, did the time permit, I might properly direct 
your attention ffthly, to the tremendous power and effects 
of human passions. We have already noticed, how the 
mind is capable of being imbued with benevolent affections, 
and through the ardor and efficacy of these becoming a per- 
ennial fountain of blessedness to itself. But it is also, on 
the other hand, capable of being filled with violent and 
most malicious passions. And what is there terrible, dark, 
guilty or calamitous in the whole compass of sacred or pro- 
fane history, that is not a comment upon the fearful nature 



248 THE FEAHFULNESS OF MAN'S 

and tendency of passion. Where will you charge the 
horrors of war and persecution and all the countless forms 
of crime and cruelty, but upon those dreadful passions to 
which the mind of man, by self-neglect and self-indulgence, 
may become enslaved ? And what a fearful train of furies 
do the evil passions form, ever ready to seize upon the 
mind ! Anger and lust and pride and jealousy and malice 
and hate and ambition and envy, like so many spirits from 
beneath, rioting in the misery they make, and yet rendering 
the mind, which indulges them, more wretched than the 
victims towards whom they are directed ! Truly it is a 
fearful thing in our nature, that the mind is exposed to the 
iron tyranny and desolating fury of such passions. 

And this peculiarity, fearful as it would be, did it stand 
alone as the only fearful thing in our spiritual nature, is ren- 
dered unspeakably more so by its connection with some of 
the other traits already pointed out. When we contemplate 
it as related especially to the just described principle of 
habit, what an overwhelming fearfulness do we at once per- 
ceive in the frame-work of the human soul. 

Does it not involve hazards sufficiently terrible, to pos- 
sess a mind of the amazing capacities we have noticed, with 
an immortal existence before it, and necessarily wretched 
or happy in a degree corresponding to the full measure of its 
utmost capacity however enlarged in the revolution of ages 
controlling its own character solely by the principle of habit, 
and that principle operating every instant, almost impercepti- 
bly, and holding the mind in inextricable bondage whenever an 
ew7 habit is established, and thus in such a case sealing it over 
to endless and increasing misery ? Would not the hazards of 
our spiritual existence be truly dreadful, were there an equal 
balance of probabilities, respecting the kind of habits which 
the mind of man R'ould form ? Would it not be fearful 
enough if there were nothing in the case but a question of 



MENTAL CONSTITUTION. 249 

cliance, and the mind from its own tendencies was just as 
likely to clioose the associations leading to true piety and holi- 
ness, as to choose those leading to habits of sin ? I go farth- 
er ; would not the responsibilities involved be truly solemn 
and even awful with the mental organization we have already 
contemplated, even if there were in the character of the mind 
a positive bias in favor of virtue ? Such a bias did once ex- 
ist in the mind of the first human being ; for this, beyond 
a doubt, was one respect in which Adam was made in 
the image of God. And yet was the mind of our first fath- 
er under no solemn responsibilities, growing out of the con- 
stitution it received from the breath of the Creator ? 

The terrible consequences of Adam's apostacy and trans- 
gression informs us what fearful responsibilities were involv- 
ed in the structure of his mind, although he had originally a 
holy bias. "Whatever therefore our poor reason might pre- 
dict, as to the permanent habits and character which would 
be formed by a soul possessing originally a holy bias to serve, 
as it were, for a helm in the voyage of its probation, the his- 
tory of Adam has demonstrated to the world that such a 
soul might become sinful, and thus concentrate in and upon 
itself all that variety and intensity of woe which its ama- 
zing capacities might adapt it to suffer. Now if it is under 
such a fearful hazard of utter ruin and desolation, that the 
human soul enters upon its existence, even while possessing 
the image of God in its bias towards virtue and holiness ; 
how could we measure its dangers, should it begin its im- 
mortal career under the restraint of no such tendency ? And 
how many and how fearful beyond description, do its perils 
become, when it must pursue its course under the alarmin(y 
sway of an opposite bias ! 

Yet, it is under this fearful peculiarity of character, 
joined to all the other wonderful and fearful traits in the 
constitution of our souls, that each of us is a spiritual and 

22 



250 THE FEARFULNESS OF, ETC. 

immortal being! Launched upon the ocean of existence, 
with full sails necessarily spread, which take in not only every 
gale ofpassion, but also every hourly rising breath of habit, 
and thus propelled onward with amazing velocity and momen- 
tum, \)\xt practically and actually under the direction of a 
helm that bears hard down on the wrong side, turning our 
course directly upon the shoals and rocks which threaten 
to dash and shiver to atoms the vessel, freighted with our 
immortal hopes ! Such is your condition, my youthful hear- 
er, on the voyage of life. These indescribable responsibil- 
ities and hazards you brought into being, under the eternal 
laws of God and of your own mind. Thus wonderfully and 
fearfully you are made. 

And, in conclusion, let me ask, what in the wide universe, 
possesses any real value to any man, except his own im- 
mortal mind ? "What shall a man give in exchange for his 
soul ? What shall it profit him, if he gain the whole world, 
and lose his own soul !" 

And where is the man who is able to save himself? Com- 
mit your soul unto Christ the Redeemer. He, and he only, 
is able to bring you safely on your perilous way to the 
world of spirits* Take him as the Lord your strength and 
the Lord your righteousness, and then all your fearful trials, 
responsibilities and dangers shall finally issue in peace and 
joy ; in that blest abode of the saints, where there shall no 
longer be any fearful thing either within or without you, but 
your soul, in all its noblest capacities, shall be eternally 
filled with wonder, love and praise. 



SERMON X. 
RENUNCIATION OF THE WORLD. 



Arise te ai^d depart ; for this is not tour rest ; because it 
is polluted, it shall destroy tou, even with a sore de- 
STRUCTION. — Micah 2 : 10. 

The prophet is addressing the inhabitants of Judea, sty- 
ling them " the house of Jacob." After a bold descriptioiE. 
of the crimes by which they had defiled and disgraced the 
land, he foretells the terrible destruction which God would 
soon bring upon them, referring probably to their being 
conquered and taken captive by the Assyrians. In the 
midst of this vivid picture of their guilt and their impend- 
ing ruin, he breaks out in the stirring appeal of the text. 
" Arise ye, and depart from the land, it is no place of rest 
for you ; it is polluted with crime, and if ye abide in it, ye 
must perish in the destruction which is hastening upon it." 

Such appears to have been the primary import of the 
passage. But many a reader has felt a peculiar force and 
pertinency in it, as suggesting to his own mind a meaning of 
vastly deeper interest ; and there are moments in the expe- 
rience of every Christian, in which this passage would 
come liome to his heart with a welcome persuasiveness as a 



252 RENUNCIATION OF THE WORLD. 

call from God upon him to renounce the world; he hears 
the voice of the Spirit saying to him, " arise, depart, for 
the world is not your rest ; because it is polluted, it shall 
destroy you with a sore destruction." 

And surely, the call which this language of the old prophet 
so aptly expresses, is a real demand of religion. The gospel 
of Christ plainly requires of its disciples, that they renounce 
the world. 

In considering the subject thus suggested, on the present 
occasion, I propose to inquire first, in what sense we are 
called upon to renounce the world ; and secondly, by what 
motives we are specially urged to do so. 

In what sense, then, are we required to renounce the 
world ? 

Here let it be remarked first, that it is not in such a 
sense as to reject all the pleasures of social intercourse. 
Christianity recognizes man as a social being, and instead of 
calling him to forsake the society of his fellow men, enjoins 
upon him as a solemn duty the continued exercise of kindly 
feelings and the active discharge of friendly offices in all 
the varied relations of public and domestic life. True it is, 
the gospel requires, that the social affections should all be 
helcl in a due subordination to a supreme devotion to God 
and attachment to Christ. " If any man come to me and 
hate not his father and mother and wife and children and 
brethren and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be 
my disciple." " He that loveth father or mother more 
than me, is not worthy of me ; and he that loveth son or 
daughter more than me, is not worthy of me." But who- 
ever imagines that such passages are intended to enjoin an 
eradication of all filial and fraternal and conjugal and pa- 
rental affection, or a general disregard of domestic ties, or 
an abjuring of the pleasure and happiness to be found in 
such relations, shows himself an utter stranger to the spirit 



RENUNCIATION OF THE WORLD. 2 53 

of the gospel. And if, in any case, a man's piety does not 
make him a better father, son, brother and husband, it is 
not owing to his being a pious man, but to some defect o f 
character, to supply which demands a higher degree of piety, 
or some perverseness of natural temper, which requires a 
larger measure of grace. What lovelier scene can this 
world afford, than a neighborhood where all the families 
participate with mutual satisfaction in common joys and 
sorrows, each sharing with delight in all the blessings of 
another's prosperity, and bearing with sympathetic kindness 
the burdens of another's adversity? What more blessed 
sight is there on earth, than a family where all the members 
are bound together in the silver cords of love, and domes- 
tic peace, harmony and joy hold uninterrupted sway ? Now 
such are the sights and scenes, with which genuine Chris- 
tianity would fill this selfish, contentious and savage world. 
And never did Satan instigate his dupes to a worse abuse 
of themselves and of religion, than when he put them upon 
a renunciation of the duties, cares and pleasures of domestic 
life. Asceticism and monasticism are at variance as much 
with religion as with nature ; while they do violence to the 
human soul, they are also a base perversion of the gospel. 
The whole scheme, which professes to purify man by a dis- 
ruption of domestic bonds and a smothering of all our best 
social principles, wath its well-wrought machinery of monas- 
teries and nunneries, and a priesthood bound to celibacy, is 
an abomination so vile and so mischievous as to be truly 
worthy of that man of sin, of whom, as the accursed Anti^ 
Christ, prophecy loudly forewarned the Church. 

It may be remarked, secondly, that we are not called upon to 
renounce the world in such a sense as to discard honorahle 
employments and pursuits. Active industry is enjoined as 
a Christian duty, and no occupation, that affords honest and 
honorable means of subsistence, is interdicted by the gospel. 

22* 



254 RENUNCIATION OF THE WORLD. 

The welfare of the human family evidently requires, that 
both nations and individuals should be left to pursue their 
own choice as to their employment and their mode of pro- 
curing sustenance, restrained only by the principles of jus- 
tice and equity towards others ; with this fundamental doc- 
trine of political economy the gospel does not in any way 
interfere. Christianity, instead of requiring its disciples to 
discard all secular employments in order to devote the soul 
exclusively to religious exercises or meditations, enjoins up- 
on them to be diligent in business, as well as fervent in spir- 
it. The gospel does not exalt any one pursuit or profession 
above others, as being more excellent in itself, nor does it 
appoint any profession as a permanent institution, except 
that of the ministry, which the church is required to preserve, 
not indeed as the means by which a select few may gain a 
living, but as a part of the divine plan for converting and 
saving mankind ; and while it will in all ages be the duty of 
some to devote themselves to this holy calling, and the duty 
of the church to maintain them in it, every man is still left 
to decide for himself in what pursuit he ought to engage. 
Nor is a man's title to the name of Christian to be tested 
simply by the decision he may make, although the degree 
and character of his piety will always exert a great influ- 
ence in determining his choice ; no man is demonstrated 
to be a Christian at heart, because he becomes a preacher of 
religion ; nor is any man proved to be an infidel or a god- 
less sinner, because he prefers to traverse the seas or dig 
in a mine. Paul was as truly a Christian, and it may be as 
much a Christian also, v>'hen he was laboring with his hands 
in the humble business of a tentmaker, as when he was dis- 
puting in the Jewish synagogues and mightily convincing 
the hearers that Jesus was their long expected Christ, or 
discoursing in the presence of Felix concerning temperance 
and righteousness and the judgment to come. Let the fu- 



KENUNCrATlON OF THE WORLD. 255 

ture progress of the arts and sciences be as great as imagi- 
nation may ever dream, and let the number of various occu- 
pations for men be thereby augmented a thousand fold ; not 
one of those occupations will Christianity interdict except on 
the 'ground of a manifest dishonesty or immorality ; and 
when the author of Christianity shall sit upon the great 
white throne, and gather the nations before him to judg- 
ment, the main question will not be whether a man was of 
this or that profession, but with what spirit and motives he 
labored in his appropriate calling ; the inquisition will not be 
so much whether you preached the gospel, as whether you 
preached it in love, "out of a pure heart and faith unfeigned,'' 
— not whether your business was that of a lawyer, a physi- 
cian, a farmer, a mechanic, a tradesman, a banker, a civilian, 
a teacher, a seaman, a shepherd, a hunter, a llsherman, a 
poet, a historian, an inventor, a naturalist, a painter, a sculp- 
tor, but whether in your daily concerns whatever they were, 
you maintained a conscience void of offence towards God 
and towards man, doing justly, loving mercy, and walking 
humbly as a disciple and servant of your Lord. 

Again it may be remarked thirdly, that we are not called 
upon to renounce the world in such a sense, as to abjure all 
property. It is stated in the 4th chapter of the Acts, that 
the early converts at Jerusalem " had all things common ;" 
but that this did not result from any command of Christ or 
requirement by the Apostles, is plain from the very narra- 
tive which contains the statement ; indeed from the descrip- 
tion given of the circumstances, the statement that " they 
had all things common," appears to refer merely to the fact, 
that those converts who were possessors of lands or houses 
sold them in order to raise funds to support other converts 
who were absolutely destitute, and that those funds were 
entrusted to the keeping of the Apostles, who distributed 
them to the poor according to the particular necessities of 



256 RENUNCIATION OF THE "WORLD. 

eacli individual. But, however this may have been, the nar- 
rative fully shows that the disciples were not required to 
hold all things common ; and that all their pecuniary sacri- 
fices, whatever they were, were generally from their own 
benevolent sympathies for their poor brethren, and not umler 
any prohibition to hold property : for when Ananias sold a 
possession and kept back part of the price, and brought the 
residue to the Apostles as if he was consecrating the whole 
to this charitable use, Peter, in order to show more fully the 
hypocrisy and the guilt of such a transaction, charges Ana- 
nias with attempting to deceive God when there was no oc- 
casion for it ; " why hath Satan filled thine heart to lie to the 
Holy Ghost, and to keep back part of the price of the land ? 
Whilst it remained, was it not thine own ? and after it was 
sold, was it not in thine own power ? Why hast thou con- 
ceived this thing in thy heart ?" These piercing interro- 
gations furnish resistless proof that no requirement of Christ 
or the Apostles had called on tlie converts to renounce their 
property as such ; they might retain their homes or lands, 
if they pleased, or they might sell thera for cash, and keep 
the money in their possession, if they chose. The calls of 
charity they must indeed answer, according to their own 
consciences, and the spirit of that golden rule of their master 
to love their neighbors as themselves ; but they had never 
been commanded to renounce all their possessions, nor even 
to devote them all to charity, and therefore to pretend to 
give up all and yet keep back a part M^as mere gratuitous 
hypocrisy, the grosser and blacker because it was unnec- 
essary. 

It is also obvious from the Apostolic injunctions respecting 
the use of wealth, that they did not understand the gospel as 
requiring the disciples to abjure all property. Thus for exam- 
ple, Paul directs Timothy as a preacher of the gospel to "charge 
them that are rich in this world that they be not high-minded, 



RENUNCIATION OF THE WORLD. 257 

nor trust in uncertain riclies, but in the living God, who 
giveth us richly all things to enjoy ; that they do good, 
that they be rich in good works, ready to distribute, willing 
to communicate, laying up in store for themselves a good 
foundation against the time to come, that they may lay hold 
on eternal life.^' Here is no command to the rich to renounce 
their possessions at once, but they are warned of the dread- 
ful danger to which earthly riches expose their souls, and 
urged to place their aiFections and confidence only on God — 
to employ their wealth in deeds of charity and benevolence, 
and thus lay up for themselves an imperishable treasure, an 
inheritance beyond the grave, even tha,t glorious possession, 
the eternal life. 

But let us proceed to consider, if we are not called upon 
to reject the pleasures of social intercourse, nor to discard 
honorable pursuits and employments, nor to abjure all prop- 
erty, in what sense it is that we are required by the gospel 
to renounce the world. 

First then, it must be renounced so as no longer to be 
in any form or aspect an ohject of our supreme love or desire. 
The world must be dethroned as the idol of our hearts, and 
God enshrined there in its place. We must no longer 
attempt to serve both God and Mammon. God must not 
be mocked by such odious double-dealing ; deceived he can- 
not be. This is too obvious to need further remark ; but it 
is equally true, although not so readily a.dmitted, that natu- 
rally the world in some form or other is the idol of every 
human heart ; and that in no heart does God receive the 
place and regard due to him, until the world is in this sense 
renounced. Men are lovers of pleasure and lovers of them- 
selves more than of God ; they serve the creature more than 
they do the Creator. This is robbery, and the gospel de- 
mands peremptorily, as the very first element in religion, 
that the soul of man shall cease from such robberyo "Thou 



258 RENUNCIATION OF THE WORLD. 

shalt have no other god before me," is the first command- 
ment of the law, which Christ came not to abrogate or weak- 
en, but to enforce and fulfil to the utmost. Neither the 
world as a whole, including all that it can give a man of 
wealth and honor and knowledge and power and pleasure, 
nor any part or portion of it as seeming to any man more 
desirable than the rest, must be loved supremely ; any love 
for it, which does not always and instantly give way under a 
higher love to God, is absolutely forbidden, and wherever 
such love of the world exists, the gospel requirement to re- 
nounce the world has not been obeyed. Nor is such renun- 
ciation an easy affair ; to make it is not a work to be per- 
formed at any idle moment, nor by a slight effort which the 
mind may be left to put forth at any convenient season ; it 
is a work which even in youth, when the world has woven 
around the soul but a few of its ten thousand bands and cords, 
so seemingly slight, and yet so terribly strong, demands for 
its performance a hero's decision and a giant's energy, but a 
work which, whatever its difficulty and however delayed and 
however hindered by impediments, augmenting fearfully from 
day to day, the gospel still requires and will require with 
an unyielding strictness, up to the last minute of the soul's 
probation. 

And secondly^ the world must be renounced so as no lon- 
ger to be a source of delusion, decoying and delighting us 
with an inferior good. Here we are reminded as much of 
gospel privileges as of gospel prohibitions. For when we 
are solemnly warned, " touch not, taste not, handle not," we 
are at the same time exhorted to place our affections on the 
things which are above, and which perish not in the using. 
It may possibly be, that he who truly renounces the world 
as an idol, and really gives to God a supreme place in his 
heart, shall yet too much follow the world under a deluded 
imagination that it has something to bestow which is impor- 



KEUNCIATION OF THE WORLD. 259 

tant, althougli not absolutely essential to his happiness. He 
is not in doubt which to choose as his portion, the world or 
his Savior, nor does he suppose that the world can make 
him happy without the blessing and smile of God ; but then 
there are so many fair and bright and beautiful and en- 
chanting things about him on earth, to fill his fancy with 
airy dreams, and awaken hopes of future enjoyment, that he 
is too highly pleased with the goodly show; and as he 
pursues and gains one object after another, he attaches to 
them an imaginary value which will never be realized, and 
thus the world is to him a source of deliinon. It may not, 
indeed, absolutely seduce him from allegiance to his Creator 
and his Redeemer, but it cheats him out of much of that 
exalted and holy enjoyment which progress in religion may 
impart, and puts in its place nothing but those lower satis- 
factions that can be found in the things of time and sense. 
It persuades him to drink of a turbid or tasteless stream, 
when he might quench his thirst with waters fresh and 
sparkling and sweet from a living fountain. Thus the world 
does him great harm ; it may not, in this way, sink him into 
an apostate and treacherous Judas, but it is almost sure to 
make him a fickle and foolish Demas. Now here is a 
sense in which the world is to be renounced ; here is a vic- 
tory to be won by the Christian, and it is a victory that can 
be achieved only by faith. We must walk by faith and not 
by sight. Sight and sense are at best but blind guides, fur- 
nishing no protection against the ten thousand illusions with 
which Satan seeks to cheat the soul of man. Faith, on the 
other hand, constantly sheds on our pathway the light of 
heaven, and clearly shows to us the emptiness and evanes- 
cence of those glittering bubbles shining with rain-bow 
hues and golden splendor, with which the world allures and 
decoys. " Whosoever is born of God overcometh the world, 
and this is the victory, which overcometh the world, even our 
faith." 



260 RENUNCIATION OF THE WORLD. 

Again, thirdly, the world must be renounced so as no 
longer to he a hindrance to duty. * 

In the beautiful parable of the sower, it is represented 
that " some of the seed fell among thorns, and the thorns 
sprung up and choked them ;" the import of which is given 
as follows : " he that received seed among the thonis, is he 
that heareth the word, and the cares of this world and the de- 
ceitfulness of riches choke the word, and he becometh un- 
fruitful." 

Now there is a care of this world, which may do as much 
as the deceitfulness of riches to choke the word, and to 
throw a blight upon all the graces of the Christian. Even 
where the world is viewed in a just light, and fails to im- 
pose upon the soul by its false glare and illusive show of 
beauty, and faithless promises of various good, it may hap- 
pen, that a man shall nevertheless be too much engrossed 
in worldly business and engagements, to perform promptly 
and fully his duty as a disciple of Christ and a candidate for 
heaven. It is, indeed, as already shown, a part of his duty 
to be diligent in business ; but he may engage in too much 
business, or his diligence may run into a feverish eagerness, 
or a corroding anxiety. Not that he labors to amass wealth, 
or gather means of gratification, and raise himself to rank 
or power, for he may have it in his heart to consecrate his 
gains wholly to Christ and the church ; but his plans are 
too extensive, his cares too many and too strong ; not only 
his time and attention are absorbed by his secular works, 
but his mind is harassed and his affections disturbed, and 
sometimes his passions excited. The world intrudes 
upon his closet, and pollutes his sabbaths. A troublesome 
throng of ideas, far removed from every thing sj)iritual and 
heavenly, earth-born conceptions derived from the multifa- 
rious objects with which he is compelled to be conversant 
from day to day, crowd upon his imagination in motley com- 



EEUNCIATION OF THE -VYORLD. 261 

paniesj not merely to fill him with incoherent dreams when». 
ever he falls into a partial sleep, but what is far worse, to 
overwhelm him with wandering and distracting fancies 
whenever he attempts to meditate or to pray. And thus it 
becomes manifest that this man, even if he has renounced 
the world as an idol, and also renounced it as a delusive 
good, has not fully renounced it as a hindrance to duty. 
He is therefore called upon by the gospel to make a new 
and more complete renunciation, and break away from the 
enlarsrements which hold him in a dans^erous and criminal 

- i ■ ■ < 

bondasje. 

But we must hasten to the other inquiry proposed, viz. : 
By what motives are we urged to renounce the world ? 

It may be answered, that the command of God is a rea- 
son and motive amply sufficient. When God forbids us to 
embrace the world, who needs a higher or stronger motive 
to renounce the things forbidden, than the divine prohibi- 
tion ? And when he says, " set your affections on things 
above," why should any one wait to be urged by any further 
inducement besides the divine command ? 

But the words of the text may be justly allowed to sug^ 
gest some considerations, that truly constitute reasons urging 
us to renounce the world in all the senses above explained, 
and especially in the most important sense. 

And Jirsf, it is not and cannot he our rest, a truth most 
evident and trite, yet most strangely forgotten and practi- 
cally denied 9 a truth therefore which needs to be reiterated. 
Mark then, this world is one vast scene of perpetual change, 
and ever recurring disappointments. How much of its histo- 
ry is but a tale of hopes blasted, plans frustrated, purposes 
broken off! What emblem does nature afford that can ade- 
quately represent its vanity and instability ? Its ceaseless 
mutations are not equalled even by the tossing waves of the 

23 



262 RENUNCIATION OF THE WOKLD. 

ocean, or the varying clouds in the sky. It cannot be our 
rest. Mark again, this world is full of affliction. How of- 
ten amidst its revolving changes does some dreaded form of 
evil arise ! What a flood of water would be made, could you 
collect together all the tears which are shed every moment 
of time ! Could you put together, like masses of matter, 
having literal length and breadth and weight, the sorrows 
and pains which are at this instant crushing human hearts, 
what vast and ponderous mountains would you have ? 
Time would fail to speak of the sicknesses, the deaths, the be- 
reavements. How exactly said by Job, " Man that is born of 
a woman is of few days, and fuU^ of trouble." How fitly 
spoken in our text. " This is not your rest." But mark 
again, were the world free from all this suffering, and not 
subjected thus to perpetual changes, it still could not be our 
rest, for it has nothing adapted to fill the capacious desires of 
the soul, nothing to satisfy those mysterious longings for 
something higher, nobler, more enduring, which are the fore- 
tokenings of its immortality. And thus may every man 
hear a voice within him, distinctly enough saying, " Arise, 
depart, for this is not your rest." 

A second reason for renouncing the world, is suggested in 
the words of our text : " because it is polluted." Polluted 
by sin ; deeply, universally, fatally. Sin has not only found 
an entrance into this world, but it has poisoned every foun- 
tain here ; it has tainted the whole atmosphere, and with eve- 
ry breath we draw, we inhale the deadly efiiuvia. It has cor- 
rupted every principle of action in human nature. To be born 
into this world is to be contaminated, to live in it is to become 
further corrupted, to embrace it is to take a filthy viper to 
the bosom. To become deeply interested respecting its hon- 
ors or pleasures or possessions, to be eager or solicitous to 
obtain them is to rouse up and foster in the soul a host of 



RENUNCIATION OF THE WOULD. 263 

debasing passions, destructive of the purity of the mind, as 
well as its peace, as utterly hostile to all holiness as they are 
to all happiness. Pride, ambition, envy, jealousy, hatred 
revenge, will sooner or later, like successive plagues, infest 
the heart that does not renounce the world. And this host 
of malignant foes within must wage disgraceful war with 
kindred passions forming an opposing host equally vile and 
debased in the breasts of others. Thus the soul of man, 
once bearing the image of God, is transformed into a cage 
of vile birds, a den of loathsome monsters ; it is degraded and 
defiled, and not only so, but it defiles its fellows, and the 
contagion spreads, and the pestilence rages and becomes 
noisome as the receptacles of the dead. Now the motive 
and argument here urged, is drawn not from the misery of 
sin, not from any of its consequences considered strictly as 
penal, but merely from its pollution. And were there no 
other reason, this alone, that the world is polluted and pollu- 
ting, would be sufficient to offer to a being who knows him- 
self to be capable of more pure and noble and virtuous en- 
joyments ; it is an unclean thing, and that is enough to per- 
suade him to renounce it. Even were it otherwise adapted 
to be his rest, and although he should by experience find it 
as matter of fact to be in all other respects a satisfactory por- 
tion, a rest in which his soul could quietly and sweetly re- 
pose, yet this one circumstance and condition of its being 
polluted would spoil it forever. Feeling it to be something 
beneath his true dignity, something below his high destiny, 
he would in lofty consciousness say to his own spirit, when- 
ever tempted to incur the degradation of loving the world, 
" Arise and depart, because it is polluted." 

But a further motive is offered thirdly^ in the assurance^ 
that the world, if not renounced, will destroy the soul. " The 
friendship of the world is enmity with God." Then demon- 



264 RENUNCIATION OP THE WORLD. 

strablj, the world must be renounced, or God must be re- 
nounced. This is the immutable alternative. The soul 
that does not renounce the world in the highest and most 
important sense, persists in renouncin;^ God, and thus expo- 
ses itself hopelessly to all that awaits the enemies of God» 
How certainly then will the world, if not renounced, destroy 
the soul, and destroy it, to apply here the words of our text, 
" even with a sore destruction," a sore destruction truly, not 
to be understood or appreciated until " that day," so fearfully 
described by Paul in the first chapter of his second Epistle 
to the Thessalonians, " when the Lord Jesus shall be re- 
vealed from heaven with his mighty angels, in flaming fire, 
to take vengeance on them that know not God, and that 
obey not the gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ ; who shall be 
punished with everlasting destruction from the presence of 
the Lord and from the glory of his power." 

But there is another view of this matter, which I am spec- 
ially anxious to urge here, because it is so often overlooked 
or forgotten or perhaps not understood by men generally and 
particularly the young, in their reluctance and delay to re- 
nounce the world. The world will destroy those who do 
not renounce it, through the force of those evil hahits which 
they contract, and by which they become bound and fettered 
as with adamantine chains. Of the power of habit to hold 
the soul in fixed conjunction with sin, and the misery it pro- 
duces, there are appalling examples ; yet these examples 
fail to exert their proper influence, because so few are aware^ 
by what slight and imperceptible and yet rapid steps such 
habits are formed. When told of the besotted wretch, who 
declared that, were the fires of hell flaming in his face, he 
could not refrain from the accustomed dram, if put within his 
reach, we are shocked, but we forget that every moment we 
live without renouncing the world? we are yielding to a pro- 



RENUNCIATION OF THE WORLD. 265 

cess of mind and heart which is fending to bring ourselves 
under just such a slavery to some pernicious desire. Yet this 
is the terrible responsibility under which we possess and ex- 
ercise the capacities essentially and inseparably inherentin the 
structure of our souls ; every act of the mind in subservience 
to a love of the world, as opposed to the love of God, begets 
a tendency to another similar act ; and every repetition of 
the kindred act increases and strengthens this fatal tendency, 
until, ere long, the mind is borne on under a bias of worldly de- 
sires, as resistless as the force which draws the parts of the 
material universe to their common centre. But as the world 
is not the rest appointed for the human soul, as it is polluted 
with sin, and as sin by the immutable nature of things is 
connected with suffering, especially with remorse in the soul 
that commits it, it is obvious that to be held under the sway 
of worldly desires is to be wedded to everlasting wretched- 
ness. Hence were there no special wrath of God revealed 
from heaven against the ungodliness of worshiping the crea- 
ture instead of the Creator, there would still exist the terrific 
certainty that the world will ultimately destroy those that do 
not seasonably renounce it, and destroy them " even with a 
sore destruction." 

The subject shows us the estimate which every enlightened 
and consistent Christian puts upon the world. His estimate 
harmonizes with that of the Bible. He considers the world 
as made for men, and not men as made for the world. He 
thinks it indeed a mercy that he has any portion in the world, 
but then he feels that to love the world for a portion Avould 
be the very height and extremity of misery. He would not 
extinguish the ardor of the social affections, he would not 
stop the current of thrifty enterprise, or silence the hum of 
busy industry, nor would he commit to the furnace or the 
depths of the sea sll the gold and the silver. But he forgets 
not that his main " business in this world is to secure] an in- 

9R* 



266 RENUNCIATION OF THE WORLD. 

terest in the next." He views the world, just as it is, 
not his rest; polluted; dangerous to the soul. He renoun- 
ces it. He would not always live in it. Sometimes, yea 
often, he longs to arise and depart. 

And here we may observe, secondly, the subject shows us, 
why the real Christian considers it better to die than to live 
on earth. He has renounced the world. Deeply does he 
feel his want of something better, and deeply too does he 
feel both his pollution and his danger, while remaining in 
the body. He is absent from his Lord, the Lord his 
strength and the Lord his righteousness, all his salvation 
and all his desire. He is indeed willing to live, if God so 
ordain, but he counts it far better to depart and be with 
Christ. Yet, mark how diiferent his spirit in this, from 
that of the disappointed and restless worldling; for wretched 
worldlings may wish to die, and sometimes in accordance 
with the advice given to Job by his impious wife they do 
actually curse God and kill themselves ; and in so doing 
they do not renounce the world, but only consummate their 
idolatry towards it ; instead of really giving up their idol, 
they only certify in the sight of heaven the blindness 
and madness of their continued devotion ; they build an 
altar to their god on the shore of eternity, and immolate 
thereon both body and soul. But in the desire with which 
the Christian longs to depart, there is nothing of a chafed 
and vexed and murmuring spirit; all is sweet, and quiet and 
meek. His longings are not so much to escape the suffer- 
ings and afflictions and disappointments, as to be free from 
the temptations and the sins ; it is not the sorrow that 
chiefly oppresses him, it is rather the pollution, that " body of 
sin and death." He may be afraid of apostatizing if he 
lives, and thereby incurring the terrible penalties of sin, 
but he dreads the guilt of it much more ; he wishes not to 
get away from himself, as annoyed by a troublesome com- 



KENUNCIATION OF THE WORLD. 267 

panion dwelling in his own bosom, but to get near to a 
friend whom having not seen he yet loveth with the love 
that many waters could not quench, and he wishes the more 
to be with him, because to be with him is but to be like him ; 
he desires heaven, it is true, because it is his rest and the 
place of his security, and yet the thought of being safe with 
the Lord his strength does not delight him so much as that 
of being pure and holy with the Lord his righteousness. 
And therefore, while even here he looks by faith upon the ho- 
liness that shines in the face of his Savior, and is changed 
into the same image from glory to glory, as by the Spirit of 
the Lord, he longs to be raised into a full and perfect resem- 
blance, and so he cries out, " come. Lord Jesus, even so, 
come quickly." 

Permit me to observe, tJdrdly^ that this subject may help 
us to interpret the language which God addresses to us in 
afflictive dispensations. Although there may be many 
things connected with such events that wholly transcend 
our comprehension, although much darkness and mystery 
will often hang around them, yet there is always one utter- 
ance of the voice which can scarcely be misunderstood. 
If the afflicted and bereaved mourner will but listen, he may 
hear distinctly what it saith, in tones of tenderness and 
love. *' Arise ye, and depart, for this is not your rest, be^ 
cause it is polluted." Recently some of us have been thus ad- 
dressed, and the notes have not yet died upon our ears ; and 
to some of us the voice is even now speaking. Let us arise 
then, my friends, at this bidding, tear every worldly idol 
from the heart, and consecrate the whole soul anew as a 
sanctuary for God. As friend after friend quits us for the 
mansions that Christ hath prepared for them that love him, 
let our own affections be more and more strongly fixed on 
the things that are above. Why should we mourn that God 
hath broken a tie that bound us to earth, when in so doin<r 



268 RENUNCIATION OP THE WORLD. 

he has but strengthened the attractions which draw us towards 
heaven ? The Christian does not want evidence that there 
is an invisible world of glory, where the sun of righteousness 
shines in resplendent lustre, filling the whole sphere with 
brightness, and beauty, and warmth and spiritual life and 
blessedness. But does it not give you a new and before 
unfelt conviction of its reality, when you have accompanied 
a departing saint to its very confines, and have seen the rays 
of the divine luminary breaking through all the darkness 
and gloom of death itself, and lighting up on the face of 
your friend the smile of peace and hope and joy ? And 
when, in the prayers uttered in feeble accents by the well 
known voice, you have heard your friend again and again 
conversing in unwonted style with the invisible Eedeemer, 
as they walked together, and entered the celestial city, does 
it not assure you, with a new and thrilling satisfaction, that 
your Redeemer liveth, and is mighty to save, and hath put 
in readiness a place for his followers ? Let the heart only 
obey the sweet impulses which are thus imparted by the 
experience gathered amidst tribulations, and there cannot 
fail to be wrought in the soul a more delightful hope and a 
more confiding trust, and you may rejoice even in the re- 
membrance of your sorrows, and thank God that he thus 
led you out into the wilderness, in order to feed you with 
the manna from heaven, that he extinguished even your 
brightest light on earth, only to show you that it was 
shining brighter in the splendor of the original glory above, 
that he made even your home here a blank solitude only to 
bless your soul in the realization of its eternal home at the 
right hand of God. 

Finally., how can I help observing, that our subject ad« 
dresses both exhortation and admonition to all that love 
this world supremely. Such th^re doubtless are. They 
are yet in their sins. The idol sits enthroned in their hearts, 



RENUNCIATION OF THE WORLD. 269 

and God is excluded. This present world fills their whole 
vision, and their fancy pictures nothing before them but en- 
chanting scenes of earthly gratification. All they see or 
dream is a land of fairy splendor. But pause a moment, 
thou young immortal ! Art thou bent upon possessing and 
holding this as your inheritance ! Nay, arise and depart, 
for this is not your rest, because it is polluted, it shall de- 
stroy you, even with sore destruction.. Renounce the world. 
Give up that friendship which is enmity with God. " Seek 
first the kingdom of God and the righteousness thereof, and 
all other things shall be added unto you." " To speak the 
truth freely," said an excellent divine of the seventeenth 
century, " riches are dust, honors are shadows, pleasures 
are bubbles, and man himself is but a lump of vanity, a 
compound of sin and misery." Yet it should be added, 
that even in this singular compound, Christ may be formed 
as the hope of glory, and, although we are, in ourselves, a 
mere vanity, surrounded by dust and bubbles and shadows, 
the whole amount of which, after all possible combinations 
and accumulations, remains still naught but emptiness, w^e 
may nevertheless find a substantial and incorruptible pos- 
session by renouncing the world, and taking God reconciled 
through Christ as our portion. But he that will have the 
world for his portion here, must have hell for his portion 
hereafter; and, when in hell he shall lift up his eyes being 
in torments, and behold the saints afar off, in Abraham's 
bosom, and may perhaps utter his cry for pity and relief, he 
must only expect to hear the answer, "Son, remember 
that thou in thy life time receivedst thy good things.' 
Pause, then, thou young immortal, standing on this narrow 
neck of land between two boundless seas spread out before 
thee ; take care on which side thou launch thy bark for the 
final voyage ; I warn thee of that stormy ocean, whose 
heaving waves are but the swellings of despair, and whose 



270 RENUNCIATION OF THE WORLD. 

roarings are but the wailings of the lost As you love 
your soul, beware of the world that allures you, and of that 
Tempter who promises to give you all its kingdoms and 
their glory ; renounce it, or it will destroy you. It has 
slain its thousands and its tens of thousands. "And w^hat 
shall it profit a man, if he gain the whole world, and lose his 
own souL" 



SERMON XI. 
BELIEF IN MYSTERIES, 



The secket things belong unto the Lord our God, but 
those things which are eeyealed, belong unto us and 
our children forever, that we m4.t do all the words 
OF THIS LAW.— Deuteronomy, 29 : 29. 

The human mind exhibits an insatiable thirst for discov- 
ery. This passion has contributed in a high degree to ad- 
vance the knowledge and the happiness of the race. 

But it needs to be controlled and guided by just princi- 
ples, or on every subject in relation to which it is exercised, 
it will bewilder and lead astray its possessor. Especially 
is this the case with religious subjects. In these, there is a 
point beyond which the penetration of man cannot reach. 
Here, particularly, there are secrets, which belong only to 
the Lord God, who is the infinite source of knowledge and 
truth. The plain and explicit truths, which God himself 
has taught us in his word, are attended with such. There 
are points, and relations, and bearings ol all the grand 
doctrines of the Bible, which we cannot explain or compre- 
hend. The Bible declares facts simply and clearly, with- 
out describing the manner of those facts, or the mode in 
which they do or can exist such as they are. It asserts 



272 BELIEF IN MYSTERIES. 

truths independently and separately, without explaining 
how they are, or can be, consistent with each other. For 
instance, it reveals to us the simple fact, that the one God 
exists in the three persons, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, 
without describing, or in the least degree attempting to de- 
scribe, hoiv he does or can so exist. It reveals to us the 
fact, that Jesus Christ possesses a nature at the same time 
truly human and truly divine, without in any way explain- 
ing, how this can be. I-t asserts the doctrine, that man is 
perfectly free to think, feel and act, and at the same time the 
doctrine, that man is entirely and constantly dependent on 
God, without ever explaining to its readers how these two 
doctrines can be consistent with each other. It asserts 
that God ordained, before the world was created, whatsoever 
comes to pass, and that nevertheless man is accountable for 
every one of his actions, and will be treated in the day of 
judgment according to them, but it no where attempts to 
show how it can be either blameworthy or praiseworthy, for 
man to do that which God decreed ages before his ex- 
istence. 

In all these instances, there is, or at least is supposed to 
be, (in many cases, it is a mere imagination or prejudice), 
but there is supposed to be a difliculty, something beyond 
the power of man's solving, a point, connected with the 
doctrines, which human reason cannot comprehend. Ap- 
plying to them the language of the text, we say, here are 
secret thins-s which belong to the Lord ; but there are also 
things revealed, which belong to us, and which we are 
bound to receive. The truths and doctrines communicated 
we are to believe, although there may be, connected with 
them, these unfathomable secrets or mysteries. It is main- 
tained in the present discourse, that it is proper to receive 
and believe doctrines of this mysterious character, for vari- 
ous considerations. 



BELIEF IN MYSTERIES. 273 

In thejlr'st place, they may be true, althougli they are in 
the highest degree incomprehensible in some of their bear- 
ings and connected points. 

Many things, the truth and reality of which all acknowl- 
edge, are wholly incomprehensible. The omniscience and 
omnipresence of God, and the creation of the material uni- 
verse out of nothing, are totally incomprehensible to us. 
The union between matter and mind, or body and soul, in 
the person of man, is altogether beyond his own compre- 
hension, as ia likewise the simple law of gravitation which 
binds him to the earth on which he lives, and even the 
growth of the smallest blade that springs up at his feet. 

In the second place, doctrines of this character we ought 
to expect in a revelation from God. This revelation treats 
of things invisible, spiritual and eternal ; but it is addressed 
to beings, whose thoughts and apprehensions are, in an em- 
inent degree, affected by things present and seen. Its very 
object and design is, to communicate truths, which human 
reason could not discover at all, or at least could not dis- 
cover in its degraded subjection to a will alienated from all 
true holiness. Is it strange, if, in such a revelation, there 
occur difficulties too great for man's mastery, especially 
when it is admitted, that there are similar difficulties in all 
the departments of human science ? If, when told of earthly 
things, we do not always comprehend, how can we, when 
told of heavenly things ? 

The revelation, moreover, proceeds from God, v/ho is in- 
finite in knowledge, and in every perfection, while man, to 
whom the revelation is made, is extremely limited in his at- 
tainments, and perhaps unable to comprehend many things 
which appear perfectly clear and plain to superior intelli- 
gences. Man is comparatively a child. He should expect 
that his Father in Heaven, if he speaks to him, will say 
some things which he cannot fully understand. Nor ought 

24 



BELIEF IN MYSTEKTES. 

he to expect, even if lie should go on from enlargement to 
enlargement of mind, amid all the advantages for improve- 
ment afforded in heaven and in the society of angels and 
archangels, not even thus ought he to expect ever to 
arrive at the comprehension of all truth, and be able to 
fathom all the deep things of God. 

In the third plsice, such doctrines may be of the highest 
importance to our welfare. They may even be of vastly 
more importance than any other doctrines. Some of the 
incomprehensible truths and facts of human science are 
highly important to man's temporal happiness ; so impor- 
tant that the practical disbelief of them would involve man 
in speedy and absolute ruin. Let us disbelieve the incom- 
prehensible fact, that the grain and the fruit, requisite to 
sustain animal life, are produced by sowing and planting in 
the earth ; and who does not see that we must perish ? Let 
a man disbelieve the truth, that his mind has a body joined 
to it by an incomprehensible union, and so omit to supply 
it with food ; we all know that he must die of starvation. 
Or let a man practically disbelieve the utterly unexplained 
and uncomprehended fact of gravitation, and walk oif from 
the roof of a house or the edge of a precipice, and how ob- 
vious is it, that his disbelief of a mystery has caused him to 
be dashed in pieces. So it is of acknowledged religious 
truths. A rejection of the incomprehensible truth of the 
original creation of matter out of nothing, strikes at the 
root of all religion ; it robs God of his sovereignty, and de- 
clares his claim to universal dominion to be mere usurpation, 
and a usurpation only the more unrighteous for being un- 
limited. Disbelief of the equally incomprehensible truth of 
God's omniscience, is alike fatal to piety ; it holds up God 
in the degrading attitude of a human magistrate, obliged to 
find out the conduct of his subjects by the help of witnesses 
and circumstantial evidence, and leaves to the transgressor 



BELIEF IN MYSTERIES. 275 

the delusive hope that he may, after all, escape detection. 
And thus it may be with all those incomprehensible doc- 
trines of the Bible, which some men so contemptuously re- 
ject; to reject them may involve the soul in fatal impiety; 
it may practically ensure neglect of efforts which are essen- 
tial to the salvation of the soul ; or it may be practically 
such rebellion against the government of God, as will inevi- 
tably bring down npon the^believer God's final wrath. 

Such views ought to satisfy us that it is truly rational to 
embrace, with entire assent, the incomprehensible doctrines 
of religion. 

But, after all such considerations, there often remains, 
even in minds otherwise candid and liberal, the hesitating 
and questioning spirit of Nicodemus ; and they ask, as he 
did, " How can these things be ?" They imagine that if 
they admit such things, it must be not only by an exercise 
of mere faith, but also by a kind or manner of exercise, 
which is either wholly contrary to all sound philosophy, or 
at least a wide departure from its customary methods of in- 
struction and conviction. It may, therefore, be of service 
to inquire, what sort of answer 'pMloso'pliy gives to the 
question, how things can be ? Such an inquiry will be 
found conducive to christian edification, if rightly pursued, 
whenever and wherever it is done ; for it will show that, in 
every case whatever, the revelations of philosophy consist 
wholly in declaring the fact that things are, without once 
showing hoiv these things are. 

This occasion will not allow a full exhibition of the inter- 
esting and impoi'tant truth here affirmed ; but you will 
allow me to offer a few remarks serving to illustrate and 
sustain it. 

Let it be considered then, in the Jirst place, that our 
knowledge of the changes, which are produced by the action 



276 BELIEF IN MYSTERIES. 

of anj one tiling upon any other thing, is derived wholly 
and solely from the actual occurrence of such changes. 

No man, antecedently to all observation of changes re- 
ally occurring in his own experience, or in the experience 
of others, could predict or know before-hand a single change. 
He could not foretell v/hat effect would result from any 
given cause, nor state what cause had produced any given 
effect. This is as true of the most common effects and 
causes, as of the most remarkable ; as true of those now 
known to the youngest child or the wildest savage, as of 
those known only to the profoundest philosopher. There 
are cases, where the effects are so famailiar to us, we have 
witnessed them from so early a period of life, and they are 
so constantly taking place around us, that we imagine we 
should know them, antecedently to their actual occurrence ; 
while we feel at once in other cases, that we could not have 
known the result or issue, before actual experience : thus 
we readily admit, that we had no capacities enabling us to 
foresee that a certain metal, as potassium, on being put upon 
a piece of ice, would produce instantly a burning flame, and 
110 capacities to know before-hand, that a certain invisible 
vapor or gas, as the carbonic acid, on being set free from a 
very high degree of mechanical pressure, would produce in- 
stantly a solid white substance ; and yet, we imagine that 
we have capacities enabling us to tell before-hand, that if a 
stone be loosed from our hands, it would fall to the ground, 
and that a downy feather, thus loosed, would rise in the air. 
Now, in reality, we have no more antecedent capacity in 
the one case than in the other ; and men know that stones 
will fall to the ground, and feathers will rise in the air, only 
as they know the most wonderful phenomena ever yet pre- 
sented to the world ; that is, they know it in consequence 
of observing the mere fajts= And coul4 a man now be 



BELIEF IN MYSTERIES. 277 

found, who had no experience, of his own or of some other 
person, to inform him, he would be utterly unable to pre- 
dict what would follow, should a pound of lead be placed in 
his hand, and his hand then drawn from under it ; he could 
not tell whether the lead v^ould remain poised just where 
his hand was, or fall to his feet, or fly up i^^o the air, or 
shoot off in some horizontal direction ; unless he is told by 
another, he must wait and see ; he has no capacities to know 
before hand how it will act ; and when he has seen it fall^ 
he then only knows the fact ; how and why it thus falls, in- 
stead of rising up or sailing off, he cannot tell. 

The same is true of every other change, however com- 
mon and familiar it may be to us. Whatever capacities 
God might have given to man, man in his present natural 
condition has no capacity to foretell the future, except as he 
has observed the past ; and whenever he can truly predict 
at all, it is not because he had any innate or a priori 
knowledge how any thing is effected, but merely because he 
has learned, by his own experience or that of others, certain 
matters oi fact. 

Let it be noticed, in the second place, that whenever the 
philosopher most truly explains to us hoiv any cause pro- 
duces an effect, he in reality only states certain matters of 
fact. 

"When he has done all that he ever does, his whole dis- 
closure consists of a series of successive steps ; by giving 
this series, he satisfies us hovj the first step produced the 
last step in the train ; but in truth he has only told us of 
some intervening steps, that we did not know, and told us 
what those steps are as mere matters of fact ; but he has 
not told how the first produced the second j nor hoiu the 
second produced the third. 

For example, ask the philosopher hoio it is, that a speaker 
produces in you the sensations of sound, which convey to 



278 BELIEF IN MTSTEETES. 

you his tliouglits ; he can explain it to his own satisfactioa 
and perhaps to yours. The speaker's volition produces a 
certain movement of the vocal organs ; this produces a cer- 
tain vibration in the atmosphere, which produces a vibration 
in what is called the drum of that curious organ, the ear, 
and this produces an impression on the nerve of hearing, 
and this produces the sensation of sound ; and thus the 
philosopher tells liow a volition in the speaker produces a 
•sensation in the hearer. But what has he done ? Nothing 
but to name over a succession of steps ; first the volition, 
next the movement of the vocal organs, next the vibration 
in the atmosphere, then that of the drum of the ear, then a 
certain change called impression of the auditory nerve, and 
last the mental sensation ; he has named four steps inter- 
vening between the speaker's volitions and the hearer's sen- 
sations J but he has not shown how any step produces the 
one that succeeds it. How the volition makes the tongue 
move ; or how the moving tongue sets the air to vibrating ; 
or how the vibrating air causes the ear-drum to do the 
same ; or how the latter produces a change or impression 
in the auditory nerve ; or how that change in the nerve 
produces a sensation in the mind ;- — he has not told. He 
seems indeed to have given an answer to your one question 
how ; and yet has only given you four additional occasions 
to put precisely the same question. And should he be able 
to give any answer to either of these, that answer would 
consist in naming some other steps not before known or not 
before mentioned, and of course w^ould but multiply still 
further the occasions for the same question, viz., how any 
step produces the one that succeeds it. 

In the same way, might we take any and every case, in 
which the philosopher gives us his explanations of things^ 
and dem.onstrate that in the fullest and most complete ex- 
planation ever given by him, he has as yet merely stated to 
us certain facts. 



BELIEF IN MYSTERIES. 279 

But further, let it be observed in the third place, that the 
very highest attainment of human science and ^philosophy is 
merely to classify effects. 

ISTotwitlistanding that proud definition of philosophy, that 
it is the knowledge of the causes of things, and notwith- 
standing the lofty pretensions of some philosophers, who 
claim that they study into the ultimate grounds of thought 
and of being, the knowledge of man is after all limited to 
the knovvdedge of effects ; for which he can find no cause, 
until his mind, forced by its very constitution to reason 
under the joint influence of observed facts and intuitive 
truths, rests in the full belief of an all-wise and all-powerful 
creator and sustainer of the universe. 

The most profound discovery, that is permitted to man, 
is merely an instance of referring particular facts to a m.ore 
general or comprehensive fact ; or of showing that a single 
fact belong to a class including a number of analogous facts. 
Thus Franklin's great discovery respecting the lightning 
was merely discovering, that the lightning is an effect of 
the same class with those other various effects, which phi- 
losophers had already ranged under the common name of 
electi'icity. And all the knowledge on this subject, acquired 
since his times, consists in knowing a still larger number of 
analogous effects, all resulting from the same unknown 
cause. 

So as to Newton's celebrated discovery of gravitation ; it 
■was merely ascertaining that the falling of a stone to the 
earth's surface is a single or particular fact, belonging to a 
class including a vast number of analogous facts ; the whole 
that is made known by the discovery is the tendency of all 
bodies towards each other inversely as the squares of their 
distances ; the cause is as truly unknown at this moment, as 
it was centuries before Newton lived. 

Thus these advances, which are made in discovery, are 



280 BELIEF IN MYSTERIES. 

seen to be, in reality, only more comprehensive generaliza- 
tions, including under a common name a larger number of 
similar effects ; and when we have carried the advances np 
to the ultimate boundary of human investigation, the knowl- 
edge obtained is merely a knowledge of facts, and a certain 
common relation which they hold to each other. So that 
the highest attainments of science and philosophy, only 
teach us that things are, and never tell us hoiv they are. 

An ample view of the subject might exhibit this truth in 
a clearer light ; but the view already presented is sufficient 
to evince, that the believing of scriptural doctrines, which 
are incomprehensible, is not even in the slighest degree at 
variance with sound philosophy ; since in reality all, that 
the highest and deepest philosophy does for its most success- 
ful votary, is to bring him to the reception of facts unex- 
plained and incomprehensible. 

Permit me now to mention a few principles, which seem 
to be naturally suggested by the views presented in the dis- 
course, or are perhaps involved in them. 

First. It is ijnpertinent to object to a doctrine that it is 
mysterious. Nothing is more common than this objection. 
It is perpetually heard in the schools both of philosophy 
and of theology. Each sect cries out against the incompre- 
hensible mysteries embraced • in the creed of other sects. 
Arius sneers at the Athanasian mystery of a triune God. 
But Socinus ridicules the Arian mystery of a super-angelic 
man. Arrainius is in horror at the Calvinistic mystery of 
the fore-ordained volitions of accountable moral agents ; 
while Priestley and a host of modern universalists i^ktel, if 
possible, a deeper horror at the Arminian mystery of an infi- 
nite suffering inflicted even for the wicked volitions, how- 
ever free, of a finite agent. 

Thus it is, that each one detects a mystery in the faith of 
his predecessors, to reproach and reject, and at the same time 



BELIEF IN MYSTERIES. 281 

receives, in his own, some truth or some proposition, which 
in turn is to be reproached and rejected by those chat come 
after him. 

It is time for theologians to see, that to find a doctrine to 
be a mystery is not to find any real objection to it, whatever 
may be the science in which the doctrine is propounded. 
And it is time for all people to know, that to call a doctrine 
a mystery, although this may have been considered as a dis- 
graceful name, is not by any means to prove the doctrine 
either false or frivolous. In relation to any doctrine, in 
science or in religion, it is proper to asl\, " what is the evi- 
dence to support it ?" but its being free from mystery is no 
evidence for it, and its being encompassed in mystery, 
affords no presumption against it. On the other hand, all 
analogy shows, that mystery is rather to be expected as a 
common attribute of truth. The enlargement of science is, 
as has been seen, little else than the multiplying or the 
magnifying of mysteries ; and the greatest thing, which the 
j)rofoundest discoverer can do, is to make known a new 
mystery, or to render an old one more mysterious; as to 
take for example, again, the law of gravitation ; the old 
mystery in this matter was simply, that the stone and other 
bodies here fall to the earth's surface ; Newton's discovery 
has explained it, only by showing that it is of a piece and a 
kin with a vastly greater mystery, and thus in reality ren- 
dering it more a mystery than it was before. If it may 
seem at first, that he has drawn off the veil from the mys- 
tery of nature, it soon appears after all, that he has only 
thereby revealed a greater mystery, and so in the language 
of another, " restored her ultimate secrets to that security in 
which they ever did and ever will remain." 

Indeed, man himself is but a collection or concretion of 
mysteries. The world around him is a vast circle of splen- 
did and unexplored mysteries ; and all the changes in it but 



282 BELIEF IN MYSTERIES. 

a ceaseless succession of unsearchable mysteries. And 
what can be a greater mystery, than that there should exist 
a being capable of knowing that there are such mysteries 
within him and without ? The caf)acity of getting this 
knowledge results from, or rather consists in, his being so 
constituted by his Creator, that he does receive and cannot 
help receiving, as truths and realities, things which are be- 
yond his comprehension. 

Secondly. Our helief in matters of religion should he 
controlled by the simple testimony of the Bible. 

The scriptures are the word of God. They are from the 
lips and pens of men who spake and M'rote as they were 
moved by the Holy Ghost. " All scripture is given by 
God." Our inquiry, in each case, should be, not 'what can 
be explained fully, or perfectly comprehended by us,' ' but 
what do the sacred writings teach ?' " What saith the law 
and the testimony ?" 

And the customary usages of men in employing lan- 
guage, the acknowledged rules of philology must be our 
general guide, in ascertaining what the meaning is ; in de- 
termining what the testimony doth declare. 

It is not for us to erect before-hand our preconceived 
opinions as the standard, and then force out of tliQ Bible a 
sense which v/ill tally therewith. Yfe must not cut down the 
communications of the Holy Spirit, to the puny measures of 
our own intellect. We must not stint the truth and knowl- 
edge of God, to our little capacity of understanding and 
comprehending. 

Are we competent to decide what God ought to say, and 
what he ought not ? If so, why need God vspeak to us at 
all ? Where is the necessity of his sending from heaven 
the epistles of his infinite wisdom and love, sealed with the 
blood of his only-begotten, if we are competent to deter- 
mine what they must contain, and what they must not ! My 



BELIEF IN MYSTERIES. 283 

brethren, fellow kindred of the dust, we are not competent ; 
and this is not the course w^e are to take in reading the 
book of God. The simple question must always be, does 
the Bible teach this or that doctrine ? we interpreting its 
words according to the established laws and meaning of 
language. 

TJiirdly. We are shown, what should he the principal 
objects of our religious contemplation. 

They should be the facts and truths stated in the Bible, 
and not the difficulties which may be raised out of them. 
Some persons are forever perplexing themselves and others 
by their queries and difficulties. ^' How can these things be ?" 
"Are there few that be saved ?" How can Christ be both 
human and divine ? How can man be perfectly dependent 
on Grod, and yet be a free agent? How is it that God can 
have mercy on whom he will, and whom he will, harden, 
while every sinner that pleases may repent, and believe and 
be saved ? Now it is no w^onder that such persons are 
" tossed to and fro, and carried about by every wind of 
doctrine ;" it is no wonder that they have "itching ears," or 
that they are sometimes " given up to strong delusions to 
believe lies." Nothing can be a security against this mel- 
ancholy result, but a well regulated habit of contemplating 
revealed truth, and reflecting upon it, without being moved 
by appat^ent difficulties. 

The doctrines of the Bible are the grand and the only di- 
rect means of sanctification. This principle Christ recogni- 
ses in his prayer for his disciples, " sanctify them through 
thy truth ; thy word is truth." But these truths cannot op- 
erate as means of sanctification, if they are received with 
queryings and doubtings. They must be believed and loved 
and acted upon, and then, under the blessing of God, they 
will exert a transforming influence. The soul is purified 



284 BELIEF IN MYSTERIES. ' 

through the Spirit, only by believing and obeying the truth. 
It is well, it is important, to bear in mind, that difficulties 
may be started in relation to these truths, and to know what 
the difficulties are, and to see clearly that they are difficul- 
ties if in fact they be so, but it is not well to allow the mind 
to form a habit of dwelling upon them, allowing ourselves 
to be perplexed by them. To do so is to destroy the sanc- 
tifying and saving power of the truth ; it is to cause what 
otherwise might be unto us the wisdom of God and the pow- 
er of God to become mere fooiishness and a stumbling block. 
To do so will be but to turn the proper food of the soul into 
its bane, to convert a healthful medicine into a deadly poison, 
to transform the pure manna dropping from heaven into 
something viler than the onions and flesh pots of Egypt, to 
change the balm of Giiead into the gall and wormwood of 
the Apocalypse. 

Let the truths themselves be looked at, with their proper 
evidence, and let the feelings, which these truths require of 
us, be cherished ; then the doctrines will be a savour of life 
unto life, and we shall know that they are of God ; for we 
shall thus find them to be suited to our nature and our ne- 
cessities ; and they will become a " light to our feet and a 
lamp to our path." 

Thus revealed truths have proved to the more eminent 
saints of qygtj age. They are the " incorruptible seed," 
from Vv^hich the church has ever gathered her harvests of 
precious fruit. They are " the word of God which ^liveth 
and abideth forever." To know, believe, love and obey the 
grand and distinguishing truths of God's gracious scheme 
for saving sinners, is to possess within the soul a perennial 
fountain of blessedness. This is the well of water, which 
springeth up into everlasting life. This is the river " which 
floweth out, from underneath the throne of God and the 
Lamb." 



BELIEF IN MYSTERIES. 285 

Fourthly. The subject exhibits the necessity, that we 
should cultivate a humble and teachahle spirit. 

It is a painful humiliation to the pride of human intellect 
to confess that it has found limits, beyond which it cannot 
pass. And there is so much of this pride in every individual, 
that we are not properly prepared to receive instruction 
from the word of God, until V7e have learnt of Christ to be 
meek and lowly of heart. When we possess such a temper, 
we are qualified to "know of the doctrines, whether they be 
of God." When we have not such a temper, we are in the 
greatest danger of stumbling over " things hard to be under- 
stood," and of " wresting the scriptures unto our own de- 
struction. 

The docility, the teachableness of a child receiving in- 
struction from a beloved parent becomes us, when we turn 
our attention to the statements which God condescends to 
make to us, in his holy word. If the parent declares to his 
child, that the sun does not move in the sky, that it remains 
in one place from morning to night, this will appear strange 
and unaccountable to the child ; for to his eye, it seems to 
move over a very great space — to rise slowly in the east 
from below the earth, and pass over his head far down again 
in the west ; he seems to find here as much proof of motion 
as in any other case whatever. Yet if he is a dutiful and 
teachable child, he will reason as follows : I do not under- 
stand this ; but my Father is older, and better, and knows 
more than I, and he says that the sun does not really move, 
and therefore I will believe it. 

A similar docility of heart towards our Father in heaven, 
is expcted of each of us. " Verily, verily, I say unto you, 
except ye be converted, and become as this little child, ye 
shall in no wise enter into the kingdom of heaven," 

Let us then yield ourselves to the Spirit of grace and 

truth, that we may be guarded from all error and guided into 

25 



286 BELIEF IN MYSTERIES. 

all truth, and may grow in grace and in the knowledge of 
our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. 

Finally, it must not be forgotten that all the revelations of 
the Bible are designed chiejly to affect our practice. "The 
things revealed," says our text, " belong to us and our chil- 
dren forever, that we may do all the things written in this 
law." The doctrines taught are all intended and calculated 
to urge us to the duties enjoined. He that believes the doc- 
trines and yet neglects the duties, makes of the revelation 
but a " letter which killeth." By thus holding the truth in 
unrighteousness, he virtually changeth the truth of God into 
a lie. Or perhaps we may more justly say, his practical 
disobedience gives the lie to his verbal declarations ; or that 
while his tongue and professions assert a belief, his life and 
actions deny it; and we know he hath not faith, because he 
doth not show it ; for a real belief of the good news in the 
gospel, is the very faith which works by love, and purifies 
the heart, and overcomes the world. 

But whatever may be the difficulties which hang about 
some of the great doctrines of the Bible, and however par- 
tial and incomplete any person may consider the revelation 
of them to be, there is no such difficulty or obscurity in re- 
spect to the duties commanded. As to what men are re- 
quired to do, everything is as clear as a summer's sun. Eve- 
ry man is called on to repent. " God now commandeth all 
men, every where to repent." Every man is req\iired to 
rely on Christ's mediation for the final salvation of the soul ; 
" as there is no other name given among men whereby we 
must be saved." Every man is required to keep the moral 
law of God, as contained in the ten commandments, and as 
expounded in the two comprehensive precepts uttered by 
Christ, " thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy 
heart, and thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." 

All this is as plain as demonstrations intuition, or sensa- 



BELIEF IN MYSTERIES. 287 

tion can make any thing plain to the human mind. If any 
man, therefore, should after all that can be said, feel himself 
obliged to reject what he may call the mysteries of the Bible, 
he is still pressed by the plain commands of the Bible. 
These commands are upon him, and he cannot throw aside 
or escape their authority. No man can pretend for a mo- 
ment, that the commands of the law or the requirements of 
the gospel are obscure, ambiguous, or doubtful. They are 
as plain and positive as a father ever gave to his child, or a 
master to his servant. No man can pretend for a moment, 
that he does not understand them. 

And no man will ever dare to plead at the bar of God, in 
excuse for not obeying them, that he was hindered by any 
difficulties growing out of the doctrines and mysteries of the 
Bible. By rejectino; or not receiving a doctrine, the sinner 
may indeed so far deprive himself of a motive or induce- 
ment to obey some command of God and furnish himself 
with a temporary pretext for disobeying it ; but he does not 
thereby diminish either the perspicuity or the authority of 
that command. The command remains as clear and as bind- 
ing as ever. 

What, then, will the impenitent sinner say, what can he 
say or do when God shall call him to judgment ? " Every 
mouth shall be stopped, and the whole world be guilty before 
God." 



SERMON XIL 



THE HOLINESS OF GOD. 



Exalt te the Lord our God, and worship at his foot- 
stool, FOR HE IS HOLT. — Psalm 99 : 5. 

There is not a nobler theme of contemplation, than the 
character and perfections of Glod. His mighty and won- 
derful works present, it is true, lofty objects of thought, 
objects which may afford scope for the exercise of the 
strongest powers of men or angels. 

But if these works truly deserve examination and study, 
is not the character of the great author himself worthy of 
our attention ? All these things he spake into existence 
by a breath ; shall we admire them, but never inquire about 
liim ? All these things are temporal and transient- Shall 
we laboriously search out the proportions and beauties of 
the building, which shall ere long be destroyed, but never 
consider the perfections of the invisible builder, Vi'ho is from 
everlasting to everlasting ? 

Those attributes of God, which are called natural, as his 
power, knowledge, eternity, deserve our admiring conteni" 
plation, aside from his moral perfectionsc But it is only 



THE HOLINESS OF GOD. 289 

when his moral perfections are duly considered, that we 
have any discernment of the peculiar glory of the Infinite 
Jehovah. 

We must not expect, however, to understand and com- 
prehend every thing, which pertains either to the natural 
or the moral attributes of God. Who, even by much 
searching, can find out the Almighty ? 

In the text, the Psalmist describes the moral character of 
God by a single word, " for he is liolyy That the writer 
intends to express in this assertion the sum of God's moral 
perfections, seems fairly deducible from the evident reason 
for which he mf kes it. His object is, to state the ground 
on which God is entitled to our full homage. " Exalt ye 
the Lord our God and worship at his footstool, for or be- 
cause he is holy." It is only on the ground of his various 
moral perfections united, that we can render unto him all 
that is implied in such homage and worship. 

By the holiness of God, then, as it is asserted of him by 
the Psalmist, I understand the sum of his oral perfec- 
tions ; or that of which all his moral perfections are branches, 
or from which they all flow. And this is the sense in 
which, I apprehend, the term holiness should generally be 
understood. Every moral act of God is an act of his holi- 
ness, although it may be called by a more sjoecific name, 
according to its object, or circumstances. The will of God 
is invariably and infallibly right in all its determinations. 
The permanent disposition, temper, affection, or whatever 
it may be termed, which thus invariably and infallibly gov- 
erns the divine will, is his holiness. It is a fixed and unal- 
terable attachment to every thing that is right, and a fixed 
and unalterable opposition to every thing that is wrong. 

But when Christians think of the holiness of God, the 
latter trait or aspect of it is commonly the most prominent 
in their view ; they think chiefly of God's infinite opposi- 

25* 



290 THE HOLINESS OF GOD. 

tion to every thing sinful or wrong. It is bj sucli a view, 
that we get the most impressive and affecting idea of his 
holiness. 

In giving some proofs of God's infinite holiness, I shall 
therefore point out several considerations which will show 
this fixed and immutable opposition to all that is impure 
and sinful. 

In the Jirsf place, God's opposition to sin is indicated hy 
the general tenor of his providence. 

In the common course of human affairs, M^hat are the 
natural consequences of impure and sinful actions, of vicious 
and unholy conduct? Are they not disease, perplexity and 
wretchedness ? Look at the man who yields to any habit- 
ual vice ; it soon plunger him in misery. The intemperate 
man and the debauchee, by their degrading indulgences, 
hurry into ruin ; disgrace, poverty, and shattered mind, en- 
feebled body and early grave are their usual portion in the 
providence of God. Here, then, is an indication of his dis- 
approbation of such indulgences ; for it is under his govern- 
ment and by laws which he established and maintains in 
force, that they are followed by such painful effects. We 
shall meet with this same indication, to whatever species or 
form of sin we direct our attention. The natural conse- 
quences of the sin, to the person who indulges in it, are such 
as plainly indicate, that his unholy conduct, his sinful habits 
or actions, are offensive to God. In many cases, it is true, 
the natural penalty of sin is partially escaped ; and in no 
case is its full desert inflicted. God does not, in this life, 
shov/ all his opposition to iniquity. But still, the general 
tenor of his daily providence proves, that every thing un- 
holy is an object of his continued displeasure. The tokens 
of this displeasure are not always immediately exhibited. 
Sentence against an evil work is not always speedily execu- 
ted. But the displeasure often becomes the more marked 



THE HOLINESS OF GOD. 291 

and striking after a partial delay ; the sentence is rendered 
the more severe bj its temporary postponement. 

How often, for instance, is the criminal, after having long 
rioted in his pleasures, pursuing uninterruptedly his iniqui- 
ties and his gains, and framing perhaps new schemes of vio- 
lence and plunder, suddenly arrested by the special interpo- 
sition of providence apparently, dragged to the bar of jus- 
tice, exposed to the contempt and abhorrence of his fellow- 
men, sentenced to a disgraceful death, and driven away 
from a career of guilt to an eternity of woe. 

How often too has it been the case with a proud and 
sp'endid family, where name and wealth have descended 
through many generations, and illled the members with self- 
confidence and vain glory, and drawn them within the giddy 
whirl of dissipation, and tempted each successive descendant 
further and further from God, until it has become a family 
of practical atheists ; how often has such a family been visit- 
ed in the vengeance of heaven with unexpected desolation, 
stripped of its wealth and its ornaments, rent asunder and 
scattered. 

The same lesson has been read again and again in the his- 
tory of nations. An ungodly nation in the midst of its impi- 
ety may present for a while the aspect of prosperity and 
vigor. While " there is no fear of God," either with the 
rulers or the people, while injustice, corruption and licen- 
tiousness are fattening upon the spoils wrested from the inno- 
cent and virtuous, the state may seem to flourish ; it may 
have thriving manufactures and a lucrative commerce ; its 
name may be feared abroad, and its citizens may boast of 
their wealth and privileges. But in the very moment of 
their glorying, the cloud of vengeance breaks over them in 
a torrent of disaster and ruin. The hosts of a conquering 
invader carry sword and fire through their land, the pesti- 
lence pervades and poisons the atmosphere, or the earth- 



292 THE HOLINESS OF GOD. 

quake demolishes their cities, and their glory departs for- 
ever. 

It is thus that God exhibits to raen, in the common course 
of providence, his settled and enduring opposition to every 
species and form of sin. 

But let me remark in the second place, that he more fully 
and directly exhibits it hy the express declarations of his 
word. 

In a great variety of ways, the scriptures assert an unal- 
terable contrariety between the nature of sin and the charac- 
ter of God. In many passages, the holiness of God is dis- 
tinctly affirmed : Moses was commanded to say to the peo- 
ple, " be ye holy, for I the Lord your God am hoi 3^ ;" David 
in one of his Psalms exclaims, " thou art holy, O thou that 
inhabitest the praises of Israel ;" Isaiah, when he saw the 
Lord sitting upon the lofty throne, M^th bis train filling the 
temple, heard the seraphim cry, one to another, " Holy, holy, 
holy, is the Lord of Hosts ;" another inspired writer declares 
" there is none holy, as the Lord." 

In many other passages, God's abhorrence of sin is ex- 
pressed in the strongest terms. It is " the abominable thing, 
Vv^iich he hateth." 

Even the man, who may attempt to justify it in another, is 
called " an abomination to the Lord." " He is not a God 
that hath pleasure in wickedness, neither shall evil dwell 
with him." He is " of purer eyes than to look upon in- 
iquity." 

The same thing is exhibited in a still more numerous class 
of passages, in which God announces his displeasure at the 
particular sins of individuals. When Adam, after he had 
tasted the forbidden fruit, heard the voice of the Lord God 
in the garden, was it not a voice of strange disapprobation 
and sharr> rebuke, proving to the terrified man that he had 
committed a deed highly offensive to his Creator ? And 



THE HOLINESS OP GOD. 293 

when the Lord said unto Cam, where is Abel thy brother ? 
and threatened to send forth the murderer to be a fugitive 
and a vagabond in the earth, did he not plainly declare him- 
self an enemy to sin ? 

It deserves, moreover, our special notice, that in numer- 
ous instances, God expresses the same abhorrence of the sins 
of the Israelites, whom he had selected for his peculiar 
people, and towards whom he ever cherished the most lively 
and tender regard. How keen a displeasure did he exhibit, 
when they worshiped the molten calf! "Now let me 
alone," said he to Moses, " that my wrath may consume 
them." What righteous anger and hatred of their sin did 
he manifest again, when they murmured in the wilderness 
and proposed to return back into Egypt ! " How long shall 
this people provoke me ? I will smite them with the pesti- 
lence; I will disinherit them." 

In such various ways, do the declarations of the Bible 
show, that God is entirely opposed to everything unholy, 
sinful or wrong. 

I now remark in the third place, that the law of God also 
shows, that this is his character. 

In whatever light we may examine the laws which God 
has promulgated, we shall find them presenting the aspect 
of perfect holiness. 

All the positive institutions which God has established 
and required his creatures to regard, have been calculated 
to restrain iniquity, and promote purity and virtue. Such 
is the infallible tendency of the holy sabbath, instituted at 
the creation. Such was the tendency of the rites and cer- 
emonies, enjoined in the Jewish dispensation. 

Such was the tendency of all the statutes, which God or- 
dained for the civil goverument of the Jews. And the 
severe penalties annexed to them show, how offensive to 
God would be the sin involved in breaking even these so- 



294 THE HOLINESS OP GOD. 

cial and political regulations. " Cursed shalt thou be in the 
city, and cursed shalt thou be in the field, cursed shall be 
thy basket and thy store ; cursed shall be the fruit of thy 
body, and the fruit of thy land, the increase of thy kine, 
and the flocks of thy sheep." " The Lord shall smite thee 
with madness and blindness, and astonishment of heart, 
and thou shalt not prosper in thy ways." 

But there is a still more manifest opposition to every 
thing sinful or unholy, in the mortal precepts which have 
been given by God. To be strongly impressed with this 
truth, we need only look at the ten commandments. Who 
will deny, that the commandment is holy, as well as just 
and good? There was much, let me observe in passing this 
topic, there was much in the circumstances and manner in 
which the ten commandments were promulgated from 
Mount Sinai, calculated to convey an idea of the holiness of 
God. The people and the priests were required to sanctify 
themselves for the occasion by special rites, and yet they were 
forbidden to come near the mount, lest they should profane 
it, and the Lord therefore break forth upon them in anger. 
While they stood at a distance, it was amid thunderings and 
lightnings, the noise of the trumpet, and the smoking of 
the mountain that God himself descended and gave Moses 
the two tables of testimony, written with the finger of God, 
and containing a lull and positive prohibition of the several 
forms of sin. 

To perceive, however, how thoroughly and irreconcilea- 
bly the law of God is opposed to every thing sinful, we 
must consider its extent and spirituality, as expounded by 
Christ. Take, then, the sermon on the mount, and you will 
see, that it is not merely the open act, which is forbidden ; 
it is not merely the more public or grosser deeds of ini- 
quity, the wilful and obstinate transgression, the high hand- 
ed and shameless crime ; you will see, that something more 



THE HOLINESS OF GOD. 295 

is intended ; that all the feelings of the inner man are in- 
cluded, and that not one of the ten thousand fair and de- 
ceptive shapes, which sin may assume, can escape condem- 
nation, when tried by the spirit of the divine law. Al- 
though it may wear the features of heavenly benevolence 
and be clothed in the guise of virtue or piety, it is con- 
demned by that spiritual law, which takes cognizance of the 
most secret and transient affection of the soul, which ex- 
tends its jurisdiction over the whole life, and carries its 
claims even to the thoughts and intents of the heart. 

Such is the nature of the divine law, and therefore it 
proves, that God, its author and supporter, is invincibly op- 
posed to all sin. 

This is proved, also, I add in the fourth and last place, hy 
the fact, that God offers Jinal pardon only through the atone- 
ment of Christ. 

If there was not in the divine mind a strong opposition to 
sin, why was this vast expense necessary to open the way 
for its pardon ? I say, vast expense ; for vast indeed it 
was, far beyond the power of created intellect to tell its 
amount. 

*' The Word was in the beginning, and was with God, and 
was God. This Word was made flesh, and dwelt among 
men. Being in the form of God, he thought it not robbery 
to be equal with God, yet made himself of no reputation, 
and took upon him the form of a servant, and was made in 
the likeness of men, and being found in fashion as a man, 
he humbled himself, and became obedient unto death, even 
the death of the cross.'' It is only through the atonement, 
made by this exalted and infinite Redeemer, that God can 
pardon a single iniquity. " Without shedding of blood 
there is no remission of sin ;"" and men are " redeemed not 
with corruptible things, as silver and gold, but with the pre- 
cious blood of Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and 



296 THE HOLINESS OF GOD. 

without spot," " whom God hath set forth to be a propitia- 
tion, through faith in his blood, to declare his righteousness, 
that he might be just, and the justifier of him that believeth 
in Jesus." 

Now, must the Son of God do all this, before God could 
pardon sin ? Must the Only Begotten of the Father per- 
form this wonderful, this stupendous work ; strip himself of 
the glory he possessed before the foundation of the world, 
and put on the habiliments of weak and degraded human- 
ity ; lie a helpless infant amid the tumults of a public stall ; 
pass his life a " houseless, homeless man," without where to 
lay his head ; at last be betrayed, hunted down and siezed 
like a criminal, and insulted with the mere mockery of a 
trial ; buffeted and spit on in the very sanctuary of justice, 
then driven forth to the punishment of a hardened male- 
factor ; suspended on the cross to be reviled by an ungodly 
rabble passing by and wagging their heads and mocking 
him ; and after all this, experience within his own bosom 
that deep, unknown, inconceivable anguish, which forced 
even from the patience and fortitude of the Son of God a 
cry of piercing agony, a cry at which '' the veil of the tem- 
ple was rent in twain, and the earth did quake, and the sun 
was darkened, and the rocks were riven asunder, and the 
graves were opened, and many of the dead awoke in aston- 
ishment — was all this necessary ? must the Only Begotten 
of the Father pass through this scene of mysterious humilia- 
tion and complicated suffering, before God could avert the 
effects of his displeasure against sin from a single offender? 
"We see then, my brethren, in the cross of Christ the liv- 
ing demonstration that God is unchangeably opposed to 
everything sinful. You may infer this truth from the course 
of his providence ; you may read it in the express declara- 
tions of his word ; you may prove it from the purity and 
spirituality of his law ; but it is in the atoning death of his 



THE HOLINESS OF GOD. 297 

Son, that it is most brightly displayed ; on the cross it is 
written in letters of blood, Holy^ ^oly, Holy is the Lord 
your God, 

If God is a being thus pure and holy, it is an obvious re- 
flection, in the Jirst place, that he is entitled to our love and 
ohedience. The unchanging rectitude of his will is a suffi- 
cient obligation to enforce our obedience. The infinite 
purity of his nature is a sufficient motive to awaken our 
love. He is immutably attached to every thing that is 
right, and immutably opposed to every thing wrong. Let 
us, then, ever " exalt the Lord our God, and worship at his 
footstool, for he is holyP 

If God is holy, it is evident, in the second place, that Ae 
has real complacency in all good beings. 

Such beings resemble him. Like him, they cherish a 
disposition opposed to all sin. Their character so far, 
therefore, must be pleasing to him, and their persons be the 
objects of his complacent regard. Such a regard the holy 
God cherishes for the spirits of the justified in heaven. 
And such a regard he cherishes for all true Christians on 
earth ; because, although he beholds in them much impurity 
and sin, he also beholds in them a principle of holiness, 
growing and strengthening, and gradually extending its 
influence over their whole temper and lives. 

And how consoling is this truth to the tempted, sorrow- 
ing, or suffering believer. Amid all the difficulties and 
trials which beset him, the eye of the Holy One of Israel 
rests upon him with tender complacency. The God of 
heaven has fixed on him a look of unchanging affection. 
Let not your heart, then, Christian, be troubled. This 
look of love God hath turned upon you, and he will not 
turn it away, till he has brought you out from all that 
grieves and harasses you here, and placed you among his 
26 



298 TIJE HOLINESS OF GOD. 

redeemed ones above, to be an everlasting monument of his 
complacency in all boly beings, and of his loving kindness 
and faithfulness to every believer in Christ. 

Another reflection, the last I shall notice, here crowds 
upon the mind. If God is holy, then he can have no com,' 
placency in those who live in impenitence. 

All such cherish a love of sin, a disposition directly and 
utterly opposed to all holiness. And what can be clearer, 
than that a holy God can have no complacency in a person 
of such a character ? God may pity his folly, may with 
great long suffering endure his provocations, may ardently 
desire his reformation and salvation, and, for this purpose, 
send the warning voice of ministers, the kind invitations of 
the Bible, the sweet influences of the Spirit ; but in the 
moral character, in the heart, of this man, he has no com- 
placency ; it is an object of his utter abhorrence, and, un- 
less the man repents, he must inevitably meet the tremen- 
dous effects of the divine displeasure. 

It makes no difference who or what the man is ; with 
God there is no respect of persons. The man may be 
blessed with the richest gifts of fortune, his domestic 
circle may be a scene of intense social delight, w^here 
beauty and affection and intelligence mingle their charms ; 
his house and gardens may awaken in every passing 
traveler the emotions of beauty and grandeur ; his name 
may be enrolled in the lists of honor, spangled and star- 
red wdth its titles, and he may call forth from a flattering 
world, wherever he goes, the highest applause and adu- 
lation. It is all of no moment to him, for he lives in sin 
and the eye of the holy God follows him with a frown. 
Wherever the man moves, whether amidst his private joys, 
or public honors, the all-searching eye of Infinite Holiness 
pursues him, with the look, not of love and protection, but 
of burning displeasure. And when the man has moved 



THE HOLINESS OF GOD. 299 

about in such scenes a little longer, cherishing the same 
unholy, impenitent heart, he will " fall into the hands of the 
living God." And, O what a fearful thing is it ! for the 
living God, into whose hands he is fallen, is not only omnis- 
cient, and omnipotent, but he is lioly^ immutably, eternally 
holy. It is by the holiness of God, that he is rendered a 
consumius; fire to the soul of the sinner. 



SERMON XIII, 
I REMEMBER ALL THEIR WICKEDNESS, 



And thet consider not in their hearts, that I remember 

ALL THEIR WICKEDNESS. — HoSea 7:2, 



Tills is spoken in relation to the tribes of Epliraim. 
These tribes had apostatized from the worship of Jehovah, 
and had indulged in the most criminal idolatries. In vari- 
ous ways God had warned them of the dangerous conse- 
quences of their apostacy, and had sought to reclaim them 
by the labors of Elijah and Elisha and other prophets, and 
by a mingled succession of judgments and mercies in the 
dispensations of his providence. But all these efforts had 
failed. They only served to detect and expose and make 
more abundantly manifest the wickedness of the people, 
who still continued their iniquities, and never considered 
that God would remember them after the brief moment in 
which they are committed. This God declares by his prophet 
Hosea, in the passage before us. " When I would have 
healed Israel, then the iniquity of Ephraim was discovered, 
and the wickedness of Samaria ; for the thief cometh in ; 
and the troop of robbers spoileth without. And they con~ 



I REMEMBER ALL THEIR WICKEDNESS. 301 

sider not in their hearts, that I remember all their wick- 
edness." 

In this passage an important truth is presented to our 
minds, involved in the verse selected for my text. God re- 
members all the wickedness of transgressors : " I remember 
all their wickedness." 

The doctrine of the discourse will therefore be, that 
God remembers all the wickedness of the sinner. 

The truth of this appears in the Jirst place, from the in- 
finite nature of God. There is no limit, or degree, or 
bound, to any of his attributes or perfections. The dictates 
of reason, and the instructions of scripture both teach us, 
that God is the Infinite Mind, that planned, created, pre- 
serves and pervades all things ; knowing fully the past, the 
present, and the future- He is mighty in strength and wis- 
dom, and perfect in knowledge. Who can counsel him or 
instruct him ? His eye glanceth over earth and sea and distant 
skies ; the evil and the good he beholdeth, and nothing is 
hid from his sight. Ascend into heaven, he is there ; de- 
scend into the abyss, he is there ; fly to the east and meet 
the morning on her rosy wings, or dwell on the extremity of 
the sea to the west, and there his hand is with thee, and his 
eye searcheth thy heart, and he undersfeandeth and knoweth 
thy thoughts. Can this omnipresent and omniscient Mind 
forget ? Doth this infinite Spirit, that watches in every 
clime the falling sparrow, and numbers the hairs on the 
heads of countless generations, and scans the thoughts of 
all that think throughout creation's space, doth this Infinite 
Spirit drop aught from memory ? Did not the eye of the 
Eternal Intellect rove, before the world was, over all the 
labyrinths of the future, and know the men, and things, 
and deeds, and thoughts, and all the changes of a universe 
for everlasting years to come ? What event then in the 

26* 



30^ I REMEMBER ALL THEIR WICKEDNESS- 

past however distant, or however obscure, can that eye 
overlook, or that intellect cease to remember ? 

The infinite nature of God makes it evident, that he no- 
tices and remembers every thing that occurs in his domin- 
ions. He nolicesj therefore, and remembers the sins of the 
wicked. He " remembers all their wickedness," 

The same truth appears in the second place, from the 
principles on which God is ta judge the ivorld. Everyman 
is to be judged according to his deeds. This is the principle 
stated every where in the Bible, as the one by which every 
man is to be tried at last, and by which God will pass the 
final sentence. God must remember the deeds of those, 
who come to his bar to receive the retributions of eternity. 
The sins of the wicked he must remember, or how shall he 
pronounce a just decision ; how shall he determine whether 
heaven or hell shall be his portion, or what shall be the 
measure of his happiness or misery ? Can he call for the 
testimony of the saints or of other sinners ? But they can- 
not perhaps tell half the melancholy tale of his guilt. The 
unhappy wretch may have perpetrated crimes, of which they 
knew not, in another region of country, in the darkness of 
midnight, or in the concealment of disguise. Or they may 
charge him with sios, through mistake, of which he was 
never guilty. Shall God depend, on the testimony of the 
transgressor himself ? But the transgressor cannot, per- 
haps, even if he v/ere willing to reveal before an assembled 
world the history of his sins, cannot, perhaps, without a 
special quickening of his faculties, remember at once the 
whole of the multiplied number. He committed sins in his 
youth, which he had forgotten in manhood, and he commit- 
ted sins in manhood Vkiiich he forgot in old age. As the 
days of his probation passed rapidly away, like a tale that 
is told, and were forgotten, so Iiis sins disappeared from his 
Yiew one after another, and were buried in the oblivion of 



I REMEMBER ALL THEIR WICKEDNESS. 308 

forge tfulness. No testimonj, then, but that of the omni- 
scient memory, can be a sure ground of the decisions in the 
day of judgment. God must remember till that day the 
sins of the transgressor. And he must remember all these 
sins, else his final judgment cannot be according to the deeds 
of the sinner. There must be an exact and positive re- 
membrance of every sin, and of the precise guilt of every 
sin, or there can be no certainty that the Judge gives to 
every man his due reward or punishment ; and the awful 
retributions of the day, for which all previous days were 
made, must be dealt out, as it were, at random, instead of 
being dispensed by the hand of impartial justice on the 
principle declared in the Bible. 

But this truth appears plain in the third place, from the 
declarations of the Bible. It is implied in a great variety 
of passages. " God knoweth vain man," says Job (11 : 11), 
" he seeth wickedness also ; will he not then consider it ?'' 
The Psalmist saith (90 : 8), " Thou hast set our iniquities 
before thee, our secret sins in the light of thy countenance," 
and again (13 : 11), " The wicked thought in his heart, ' God 
hath forgotten, he hideth his face.' " The prophets declare 
respecting the people of their time, that God " will remem- 
ber their iniquity and visit their sin " (Hosea 9:9); the 
sins of Judah was written (Jer. 19: 1), "with a pen of 
iron and with the point of a diamond," so that the record of 
it could not be erased and its memory forgotten. 

All those passages, in which the scriptures represent the 
penitent as beseeching God not to remember their sins, go 
to show that he remembers the iniquities of transgressors, 
as David (Psalm 26 : 7) prays, " Remember not the sins 
of my youth and my transgressions ;" (Psalm 50 : 9), " blot 
out all mine iniquities." . - 

The same thing is implied in all those texts, too numerous 
to quote, in which threatenings are denounced against every 



S04 I REMEMBER ALL THEIR WICKEDNESS, 

sin and transgression. Why should God threaten to punish 
all the iniquities of the sinner, unless he remembers them ? 
And how can the threatening be executed, unless he re- 
members them ? What can be more explicit and full than 
the declaration of the text, " I remember all their wicked- 
ness ?" Indeed the sacred writers often use the phrases to 
remember iniquity, and to punish iniquity, as synonymous in 
meaning. Thus John in the Revelation, speaking of the mys- 
tical Babylon when fallen, says, (ch. 18 : 5), "her sins have 
reached unto heaven and God hath remembered her iniqui- 
ties." (16:19), "Great Babylon came in remembrance 
before God, to give unto her the cup of the wine of the 
fierceness of his wrath." From the declarations of scrip- 
ture then in specific cases, we learn the truth, that God 
remembers all the sins of those who transgress his laws. 

The doctrine or statement drawn from the text, that God 
remembers all the wickedness of the sinner, is proved from 
God's express declarations in the Bible, from his infinite 
nature and perfections, and from the principles on which 
he is to judge the world. Let us now attend to the reflec- 
tions, which naturally flow from the truth established. 

1. God remembers all the wickedness of the sinner. How 
different then does the sinner appear in the sight of God and 
in the sight of man. Man too often judges merely from 
present appearance and external circumstances, while the 
eye of God rests on the whole history of the past, viewing, 
at the same time, all the outward conduct and all the in- 
ward motives and feelings. The sinner, therefore, must 
appear to the holy God, who remembers, as he looks upon 
him from day to day, all his transgressions from his youth 
up, far otherwise than he does to his fellows around him, 
who have known but few of his sins comparatively, and who 
have forgotten many even of those, and are, perhaps, in 
danger of overlooking them all in the splendor of his pres- 



I REMEMBER ALL THEIR WICKEDNESS. 305 

ent circumstances. The sinner may be a man of wealth. 
He has multiplied his houses and farms, his mills and fac- 
tories have risen on every stream, or his ships are plough- 
ing every ocean ; his shares are counted in every public 
stock, and every year his produce and gains and dividends 
are pouring new treasures into his hands. His riches 
throw a kind of enchantment around him, which buries all 
remembrance of his sins, perhaps the very injustice and 
crimes by which he has acquired his wealth. His fellow 
men flatter and fawn upon him, and place him in the seat 
of honor and trust. They call him to the council of state, 
to the hall of legislature, to the chair of justice. His treas- 
ures cast upon him a delusive splendor, which hides the 
defects of his character, and covers all the darkness of his 
vices from the view of man. But God remembers all his 
wickedness. Every crime and sin of this pampered child 
of fortune, now trusting and glorying in uncertain riches, 
every unholy deed he has performed, every wicked scheme 
he has planned, every unclean desire he has indulged, is 
remembered by God. His heaps of gold and silver can- 
not hide one of the least of his countless transgressions 
from the view of Him who sitteth in the heavens, and 
whose eye taketli in at every glance the past, the present 
and the future. The sinner may be a man of power. He 
hath risen from station to station till he holds the hio-hest 
office in the land, and now his single mind sways the des- 
tiny of a mighty people. The thoughtless world look on 
him, and forgetting ail that he may have done of iniquity 
in the past, think of nothing but his present elevation and 
authority. Their plaudits are carried to his ear on every 
breath. To man he appears invested with the dignity of 
worth and virtue. But God remembers all his vvricked- 
ness. God, as he looks on this applauded occupant of 
high places, has a clear and full view of all the unholy 



306 I REMEMBER ALL THEIR WICKEDNESS. 

artifices, the dishonest shifts, the base intrigues, and the 
whole course of sinful ambition, by which he has toiled la- 
boriously up to his present height. Not one deed of dark- 
ness, through all his labyrinthian windings, has God for- 
gotten. 

The sinner may be a man renowned for genius. He 
hath explored the mines of science and learning, hath 
quaffed at the fountains of the muses, and caught the in- 
spiration of external nature. The fire of eloquence has 
kindled in his bosom, and he hath poured forth upon the 
delighted ears and minds of his fellow-men the mingled 
harmonies of speech and thought and feeling. His name 
and its glory have gone out to every land, and his is a 
larger and richer tribute of admiration than the world gives 
to wealth or power. But while the eye of the scholar 
delyes over this man's page of science, or the eye of the 
statesman scans his page of history, or the eye of youth 
and beauty lingers fondly on his page of fiction, the eye of 
God rests on the broad dark page which bears the record, 
of his sins. God remembers all the wickedness of this man 
of study, this favored son of genius and fame. The glitter 
of wealth, or power, or genius may hide from the view and 
wipe from the memory of man the whole wickedness of the 
sinner, but nothing can blot it from the memory of God, 
nothing can cover it from his all penetrating sight. Let the 
condensed splendors of a thousand worlds be gathered about 
the sinner, they cannot conceal the stain of the least trans- 
gression. Let the lengthened years of a thousand ages pass 
over his head, and every sin will still stand out as clear and 
vivid as ever to the eye of God. Oh, how true it is, that 
God seeth not as as man seeth, — man judgeth by the out- 
ward appearance, but God looketh on the heart. 

2. God remembers the wickedness of the sinner. How 
obvious then the reason why God is angry with the wicked 



I REMEMBER ALL THEIR WICKEDNESS. 807 

every day. Here it is important to have a correct notion 
of what the anger of God really is. It is a holy displeas- 
ure in relation to sin. It is not a violent, selfish passion, 
like that which kindles in the heart of man when his enemy 
injures or insults him, and which prompts him to acts of 
revenge. No such feeling ever exists in the holy mind of 
the infinite God. It is His strong disapprobation of the 
conduct and character of those who violate the laws of 
infinite wisdom and goodness. This disapprobation is so 
lively and keen, and is also expressed by such effects in the 
government of God, inflicting the most severe but righteous 
punishments, that it is called anger and ivrath by the sacred 
writers, as human anger is a keen and lively passion, and 
expresses itself by inflicting pain and suffering on its object. 
This holy displeasure, this keen disapprobation, this right- 
eous anger, is justly awakened by every sin ; for sin has a 
tendency to overthrow the authority and government of 
God, and to destroy every holy restraint, and fill the uni- 
verse with confusion and misery. Therefore it is fit that 
the wrath of God should exist, and be revealed from heaven, 
against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men. There- 
fore it is that the wicked man is loathsome in God's sight, 
and sin the abominable thing which he hateth; that his 
soul abhors the worker of iniquity ; that he hath threatened 
to render indignation and wrath, tribulation and anguish, 
upon every soul of man that doeth evil. If sin thus awakens 
the holy anger of God as it is committed, and God remem- 
bers the wickedness of the sinner from day to day, then 
every day he must be angry with him. Every day, indeed, 
the guilty man commits new offences, which of themselves 
provoke the indignation of God. But if the sinner should 
pass a day without indulging in a single sin, still through 
the whole of that day the anger of God continues burning 
against him for his former transgressions, because God re- 



308 I REMEMBER ALL THEIR WICKEDNESS. 

members them all, and to his pure eye they appear this day 
as guilty and vile as they did at the moment they were 
committed. There is not a moment of the impenitent sin- 
ner's time when God is not angry with him, for there is not 
a moment when God forgets his past sins. So as the un- 
happy man hurries onward to the grave, the wrath of the 
Holy One pursues him in a tremendous wave, which began 
to rise on the sinner'-s first offence, and has rolled on after 
him, and will still roll on after him, never sinking, but 
swelling higher and higher at each successive sin. Let the 
flame of Jehovah's anger be once kindled, (and it is kind- 
led by the sinner's first transgression), and it will burn day 
after day, and unless he repents and embraces the Saviour, 
burn on until the day of judgment; it may now, indeed, be 
all unseen and un thought of by that guilty sinner, while it 
is only gathering strength from day to day to break forth at 
last in the devouring fire, and perhaj^s everlasting burnings. 
3. God remembers the wickedness of the sinner. Hoio 
wonde^^ful then is the forhearance of God. The sinner hath 
entirely forfeited salvation. Long hath the cry of justice 
been in relation to the barren tree, " cut it down." His 
sins are innumerable. The times and ways of them cannot 
be mentioned. His sins are aggravated. The guilt of them 
cannot be told. Richly do they merit the full penalties of 
God's violated law. If the sentence were to go forth in- 
stantly, and the unrepenting man were cast into the bottom- 
less pit, whence ascendeth the smoke of torment forever 
and ever, the worshippers around the throne would renew 
their song, " Holy, Holy, Holy, art thou Lord God Al- 
mighty ; just and true are all thy ways." And God hath 
not forgotten these offences of the sinner ; they are contin- 
ually before his view in all their baseness and turpitude. 
Nor has God ceased to be angry with the wicked. Sin is 
still the object of his deep abhorrence. Still does he threaten 



I EEMEMBER ALL THEIR WICKEDNESS. 309 

againbt it the fierceness of his wrath. Why then is the 
sinner's life and day of probation prolonged ? God remem- 
bers all his iniquities, for these he is angry with him every 
day, and he sees him still continuing to add sin to sin, and 
transgression to transgression, abusing every privilege, and 
making his lengthened probation only an occasion of grow- 
ing into more ungodliness ; and yet God spares him. God 
yet continues the breath in his nostrils, and feeds him, and 
clothes him, and offers him forgiveness and eternal life, and 
urges him in his word and by his spirit and providence to 
accept them. See here the riches of God's forbearance^ 
Wonderful, indeed, is the long-suffering with which he en- 
dures the vessels of wrath fitted to destruction. Long did 
he wait with the corrupted generations before the floods 
Long did he wait with the guilty citizens of Sodom» Long 
did he wait with the hardened murderers of Christ. Long 
does he still wait with the unbelieving sinner. It is not 
that the guilt of the past is overlooked, for God hath al- 
ready sharpened the point of his glittering spear, and 
lifted high his sword for the blow of vengeance, while 
every old provocation is fresh in his view, and a thousand 
new ones are calling on him to strike. It is because he is 
" full of compassion ; " " not willing that any one should 
perish, but that all should come to repentance." V/ho can 
measure, and O ! who will despise the riches of his goodness 
and forbearance and long suffering ? 

4. God remembers the wickedness of the sinner. How 
fearful then the retribution^ which awaits the sinner at the 
final judgment. In that day, God will execute his threat^ 
enings, and inflict the righteous penalties of the law- And 
it will not be merely for a few of the sinner's transgressions, 
that vengeance will then fall upon him. There will not be 
a punishment for a part of his guilt, while the rest is for- 
gotten. Every sin has been registered. God remembers 
27 



SlO I REMEMBER ALL THEIR "WICKEDNESS, 

them all. The horrid catalogue is produced. The trem- 
bling sinner is overwhelmed with consternation. "While he 
lived, he saw himself continually surrounded by mercies 
and favors and acts of goodness, and he did not believe that 
God was so strict to mark iniquity ; he saw that his sins 
faded from the memory of his companions, they were ban- 
ished from his own recollections in the hurry of worldly 
cares and worldly pleasures, and he vainly imagined that 
God was altogether such an one as himself; he saw that 
vengeance against an evil work was not speedily executed, 
and he said in his heart, " God hideth his face, he forgetteth j" 
and thus, after his hard and impenitent heart, he went on in 
Lis own chosen way ; — but he was constantly treasuring up 
wrath against the day of wrath. And now he discovers, 
that the eye of God was all the while upon him. Frightful 
multitudes of sins long forgotten, but never repented, now 
stare him in the face. God hath ever remembered them, 
and on this awful day conscience wakes from her treach- 
erous fatal sleep to name them in the " pale delinquent's 
private ear." Not one unholy deed, not one idle word, not 
one wicked thought, nor wrong desire remains untold. 
Here are the sins of his childhood, the sins of his youth, 
the sins of his manhood, the sins of his old age. Here are 
the sins which he concealed in darkness, the sins which he 
buried in the secrecy of his heart ; here are the smallest as 
well as the greatest of his sins, — all, all remembered, and 
published — and more appalling still, all to be punished ! 
Fearful is his retribution. " Behold the Lord will come 
with fire, and with his chariots like a whirlwind, to render 
his anger with fury, and his rebukes with fames of fire." 
" Who may abide the day of his coming ? who shall stand 
when he appeareth ? " 

Finally^ God remembers the wickedness of the sinner. 
Sow inco7isiderate, then, is every man, who is living in sin^ 



I REMEMBER ALL THEIR WICKEDNESS. 311 

The incoiisiderateness of sinners is particularly mentioned 
in the text ; " and they consider not in their hearts, that I 
remember all their wickedness." God judgeth of them 
very differently from their fellow men, for he remembers 
all their sins, but they consider it not. God is hindered 
only by his infinite compassion and forbearance from in- 
stantly pouring out upon them the vials of his wrath, for he 
remembers all their sins, but they consider it not. " O ! that 
they would consider their latter end." " Consider^ ye that 
forget God." Consider, hoxo you appear in his sight. In 
the view of man, your appearance may be altogether fair. 
You have turned aside from your secular business on the 
holy sabbath. You have come to the sanctuary of the 
Lord, and here you sit with sober and respectful attention. 
To the eye of man all seems well. But God is here, his 
eye searcheth his house, and he remembers all your sins, 
and the whole accumulated guilt of your life lies fully open 
before him. Does your own heart condemn you, as you 
think of this, and do you begin to shrink from his penetra- 
ting and pervading look ? Remember that God is greater 
than your heart, and knoweth all things. Darker than you 
can conceive appears your picture ; many a line and shade 
is drawn, of which you perhaps think not, charging you 
with some forbidden deed, some goodness slighted, some 
opportunity lost, some mercy abused, some judgment disre- 
garded. 

Consider again, that God is angry with you every day. 
He changes not. While you live without repentance, your 
sins provoke him to anger, to that anger in which a fire is 
kindled that shall burn to the lowest hell. Last night you 
sinned against God ; you retired to your bed, and slept ; 
and you have perhaps forgotten your sin. But God hath, 
not forgotten it ; he remembers it as he looks upon you in 
your seat to-day, and he is angry with you. Last sabbath 



312 I REMEMBER ALL THEIR WICKEDNESS. 

perhaps you sinned against God, and provoked his anger -, 
you went to tlie labors of the week, and you probably have 
forgotten it. But God has not forgotten it, he has re- 
membered it through every moment, and he remembers it 
to-day as he looks on you, and to-day he is angry with you. 
No matter when, how long ago you kindled his anger by a 
sin ; a thousand years with him are as one day, and for that 
sin he is angry with you now. 

Consider, that it is the mere forbearance of your angered 
and insulted God, which preserves you from heing plunged 
into the gulf of endless despair. You walk on the outer 
brink of a tremendous precipice ; even now your feet stand 
on the slippery place. Sinners fall on your right hand and 
your left. You are supported only by the forbearance of 
God. Every other attribute of Omnipotence is armed and 
arrayed against you. Shortly even this shall cease to de- 
fend you. 

Consider the retrihutian that awaits you^ when there will 
he no eye to pity, no arm to save. Your sins are recorded 
and remembered by God. Do you know, how many now 
swell the list ? Have you taken careful notice, so that you 
are prepared to answer every charge, and are you sure there 
will be none brought which'you do not expect ? Are you 
not rapidly multiplying the charges to be produced against 
you at the day of judgment ? How will you escape the 
ruin that threatens to destroy your soul ? Listen to the 
voice of infallible truth ; listen to the voice of everlasting 
love, " Consider in your hearts, that I remember all your 
wickedness,"— consider this, ye that forget God, lest I tear 
you in pieces, and there be none to deliver.'' 

" Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous 
man his thoughts, and let him return unto the Lord and he 
will have mercy upon him, aud to our God for h§ wiU 
O-bundantly pardon." 



THE VALUE OF MENTAL PHILOSOPHY TO 
THE MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL.* 

By Mental Philosopliy is understood a scientific classifica- 
tion of the almost infinitely diversified phenomena of the hu- 
man mind, reducing them by the Baconian method to their 
general laws. Some have denied to such classification the 
name of Philosophy. In the last century the author of the 
work entitled Ancient Metaphysics pronounced such philoso- 
phy to be no philosophy at all, but mere natural history ; 
and more recently it has been affirmed, that a Baconian 
classification results in nothing but a " shallow empiricism," 
a •' superficial phenomenology," a mere putting together of 
like appearances in artificial parcels, which " no better mer- 
its the name of philosophy or metaphysics, than the work 
of a gardener, when he ' folds his carrot seeds in a brown 
paper, and his cucumber seeds in a yellow one." This, 
however, is a grossly false representation ; all the real sci- 
ence that now exists, respecting actual matter or actual 
mind, consists w^hoUy of just such generalization and classi- 
fication, and in no other way will any real science ever be 
formed, unless the very powers of the human mind are 
themselves altered. 

*Thi3 article is the substance of an address, delivered at the Theo * 
logical Institute, East Windsor, Ct., Aug. 19, 1842, aad pubUshed in 
the C hristian Review for December. 

27* 



314 THE VALUE OF MENTAL PHILOSOPHY 

The laws of mind, as those of matter, must be ascertained 
by induction from observed facts. The student must care- 
fully notice his own thoughts and feelings ; he must observe 
also the operations of other minds ; he may likewise admit, 
as in the various physical, sciences the evidence of testimony. 
And here the testimony of the Bible must be received as 
the highest and best testimony. There never can be any 
real discrepancy between the evidence of the Bible respect- 
ing the powers and capacities of the soul, and the evidence 
of consciousness. But a man's supposed consciousness is 
not always his actual consciousness ; the real processes in 
his mind may be quite different from what he honestly 
affirms them to be. The power of accurate self-inspection 
is a rare attainment. Writers perpetually appeal to their 
own consciousness as proving the doctrines they advance, or 
disproving doctrines they oppose ; and yet in so doing they 
often do nothing but proclaim to the world their imperfect 
skill in the much vaunted work of inspecting consciousness. 
While most persons overlook what certainly is there, some 
profess to have seen what certainly is not there, and so re- 
mind us of the optic powers of Squire McFingal. 

"iNo block in old Dodona's grove 
Could ever more orac'Iar prove. 
Not only saw he all that was, 
But much that never came to pass ; 
Whereby all prophets far outwent he. 
Though former days produced a plenty ; 
!For any man with half an eye 
What stands before him may espy, 
But optics sharp it needs, I ween, 
To see what is not to be seen." 

By what name the study shall be designated is of minor 
consequence. Things are best called by their right names. 
Yet, if a man will only hold fast to correct notions of the 



TO THE MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL. 315 

object and method, he may term this philosophy what he 
chooses ; anthropology, or psychology, or pneumatology, or 
phrenology, or ontology, mental science, or metaphysics, 
or spiritualism, or transcendentalism. Under some of these 
names men have, indeed, propounded the wildest fancies and 
grossest absurdities, losing sight both of the object and the 
method of all true philosophy. Yet in the midst of what is 
most ridiculous and even pernicious, some useful truths may 
be embraced ; and the genuine philosopher is a universal ob- 
server and free eclectic ; not that a wise man would choose 
to hunt among rubbish, or plunge into bogs and fens, as being 
the way to get at truth ; but he would not reject a truth be- 
cause first found in a mass of error and nonsense, any more 
than a miser would throw away a diamond or a pearl, be- 
cause first seen in a heap of trash or filth. The bee may 
extract honey from other substances, besides beautiful and 
fragrant flov/ers. Nevertheless, it is matter of regret, when 
any student mistakes the proper object and method of this 
pursuit. Some there are who seem to believe that the way 
of true philosophy lies wholly or chiefly in such business 
as making magnetic passes upon nervous hypochondriacs, 
sticking pins in the flesh of somnambulists, and sending 
clairvoyants to explore the inside of a sick man. Others 
imagine it to lie in measuring the hard and empty skulls of 
the dead, or manipulating blindfolded ujDon " living recepta- 
cles for brains," which, if not softer, are yet sometimes 
scarcely less empty. The efforts of the phrenologist and 
mesmeriser, however, may be expected to contribute some- 
thing to the advancement of science, because they profess- 
edly notice and record actual phenomena. It is a skepticism 
as irrational as the most vulgar credulity, to assume that na- 
ture may not, under new observations and experiments, dis- 
close secrets hitherto locked fast in her own bosom. Every 
phenomenon that actually occurs, pertaining to the mind, by 



316 THE VALUE OF MENTAL PHILOSOPHY 

whatever means produced, or in whatever way presented to 
observation, will find its place in a true and complete phi- 
losophy. Hence of all mistakes, the greatest and worst is 
made by those, who scout the ^' servile work of observing 
phenomena," and expect to solve the highest problems of 
philosophy by mere Platonic meditations. The disciple 
of this school, although he pompously boasts of eleva- 
ting the reason above the senses and imagination, is from 
necessity a mere dreamer of dreams, which he himself must 
not deign to interpret or even notice, because these very 
dreams are, after all, nothing but bare phenomena ; not in- 
aptly therefore has he been compared to a sea-bird called 
the loon, " that will sit all day long by the edge of a fog- 
bank, gazing tranquilly and transcendentally at nothing.' 
His fundamental principle, if really followed out, would 
substitute in the place of all science a mass of shadowy 
fictions or most profound nonsense. To be consistent with 
such a principle, a man must literally comply with the ad- 
vice of the Arabian mystic, Tophaeil ; who " recommends 
to the philosopher that wishes to rise to the intuition of the 
truth, to imitate the circular motion of the stars, in order to 
bring on a giddiness, that may efface from his mind every 
recollection of the world of phenomena," — for, says he, " in 
this state of isolation, the intelligence of man, freed from all 
material obstacles, finds itself in direct communication with 
God." We have seen, we think, now and then a fledgeling 
of philosophy entering upon these gyrations in the clouds, 
w^ith " deep-felt hopes " of attaining unto the lofty intuitions. 
How many of the circuitous movements are requisite to 
carry a poor sensuous mortal up to " the absolute being," to 
" the primary principle of all things," is not told us ; but it 
has been made too manifest that a few sweeps are sufiicient 
to bring both the understanding and the reason very near 



TO THE MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL. 317 

to what Hegel declares that absolute bemg or principle to 
be, viz-, " almost the nihility of existence." 

In speaking of the value of mental philosophy to the min- 
ister of the gospel, it would be pertinent to notice the disci- 
pline it affords. Much might justly be said of its utility, 
considered merely as a study holding a place among other 
studies in a system of liberal education, and furnishing a dis- 
cipline specially needful to the minister. Easy would it be 
to show its happy influence in invigorating the powers of 
reflection and analysis ; in checking dogmatism on the one 
hand, and preserving from skepticism on the other ; in fos- 
tering an earnest reverence for truth and a salutary fear of 
error ; in promoting a knowledge of one's self, and impart- 
ing, beyond all other studies, the principles of practical wis- 
dom. All this must now be omitted ; but there is one point 
of view we must not here pass by ; one the more important 
to notice, because, while it illustrates the value, it also par- 
tially exhibits the delightful and thrilling interest of the 
study; and it is but ill treatment towards the science, a 
virtual injustice, if we overlook its sweets and pleasures, in 
our haste to count and measure its utilities ; although doing 
so might be said to accord with the spirit of our age, by 
many condemned as a mere mechanical and gain-computing 
age, so miserly and selfish throughout, that men now seek 
and " love the truth herself, for her dowry rather than her 
beauty." 

Mental philosophy affords the minister a fitting discipline, 
as it peculiarly elevates and ennobles the thoughts. In the 
humblest departments of physical science, while considering 
the lowest forms of animal life and smallest atoms of inor- 
ganic matter, the mind may be elevated, and the philosopher 
may look " through nature up to nature's God " But this 
study peculiarly fosters a tone of lofty contemplation. After 
following the astronomer to the outer circle of his discov- 



318 THE VALUE OF MENTAL PHILOSOPHY 

eries, admiring the order, the beauty, the vastness, the sub- 
limity of the countless worlds, the student returns into him- 
self, and meets a far greater wonder in his own soul ; which 
perceives all these worlds and wonders of a vast expanse, 
stretching every way beyond all measurable dimensions ; 
which, itself occupying no space, does yet take in the con- 
tents and accidents of all space. After learning with ad- 
miration the curious properties and laws of matter, with 
higher admiration he finds a lord and master of the material 
world in the mind, which subjects to itself every object an- 
imate and inanimate, making the winds, the waves, fire, 
steam, the lightning itself, all the elements and all the most 
terrific energies of nature, subservient to its own wishes. 
He contemplates its amazing capacities for happiness and 
misery, such that there is no conceivable ecstasy of delight, 
but there may be a delight more ecstatic, and no conceiva- 
ble pang of distress, but there may be a distress more 
keen. He meditates upon the fearful powers of memory 
and conscience ; the strange, resistless sway of habit ; the 
appalling effects of passion. He ponders the mind's origin 
and its destiny, springing from the breath of God, and ap- 
pointed to an eternal existence with its high capacities and 
overwhelmning responsibilities. How can he help exclaim- 
ing, " I am fearfully and wonderfully made I " What ob- 
ject so truly vast as the immortal mind, 

# # # " Which holds on its glorious coiirsej 
When that of nature ends ? 

Well did one of the Fathers say, " there is but one object 
greater than the soul ; and that is the soul's Creator." Thus 
does this philosophy carry the student quite beyond those, 

who 

" Travel [outward] nature up 
To the sharp peak of her subliraest heightj 
And tell us whence the stars." 



TO THE MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL. 319 

Awe-struck by the majesty of the visible heavens and the 
amazing discoveries of the telescope, every one cries out " an 
undevout astronomer is mad ; " but truly a more hopeless 
insanity possesses an undevout metaphysician ; for, in scan- 
ning the mysteries of the human soul, he has a study more 
fully suited to excite a tone of lofty spiritual feeling ; and 
it is in the wonders of that unknown something, which in 
all languages is most significantly termed 7, me, myself, 
rather than in the wonders of an external universe, that a 
man may find the highest and most affecting proof of the 
power, goodness, and holiness of God. 

In unfolding the value of mental philosophy to the minis- 
ter of the gospel, the benefits he may gain from it in his 
capacity of theologian, come very prominently into view. 
Some of its advantages to the theologian may be seen by 
merely glancing at its comprehensive nature. A modern 
well known writer has, with obvious correctness, presented 
it as comprehending, in its full scope, four grand branches ; 
1st. The physiology of the mind, or psychology, which con- 
templates the mental phenomena merely as so many actual 
occurrences, or matters of fact, and inquires simply what 
they are, and under what laws they come into existence ; 
2dly. Moral philosophy, or ethics, which contemplates the 
mental phenomena as being right or wrong, good or bad, 
virtuous or vicious, in their character, and inquires after the 
rules of duty and moral obligation ; 3dly. Political philoso- 
phy, which contemplates the mental phenomena as affecting 
minds united in a common society, and inquires what civil 
regulations are wise and wholesome ; and 4thly. Natural 
theology, which contemplates the phenomena as related to 
the attributes and government of the Creator, so far as the 
light of nature makes them known. There is no reason 
for limiting the fourth branch to such views of our relations 
to God, as may be obtained by the mere light of nature ; 



320 THE VALUE OF MENTAL PHILOSOPHY 

it properly extends to such, also, as are furnished by reve- 
lation ; and therefore the whole science of theology, both 
natural and revealed, is but a part of the great science of 
mind. Christian theology is indeed the highest and noblest 
part, the top-stone of the magnificent structure ; but if the 
minister would be a thorough and accomplished theologian, 
lie must properly understand the other partSx The princi- 
ples of psychology must evidently lie among his foundation- 
stones. To expect a full and just theology, without aid 
from this, as an elementary science, would be as preposter- 
ous as to expect an enlarged astronomy without geometry, 
or the highest method of fluxions without an algebra or 
arithmetic. The decision of a single question in psychology 
may affect a whole system of faith or morals. Hence a 
false philosophy may ruin a man's theology. 

This very consideration, however, has led some excellent 
persons to deplore all connection of theology with mental 
science. Appealing to ecclesiastical history for the fact that 
the grossest errors ever propagated have had their origin and 
their support chiefly in some false philosophical dogma, they 
make the sweeping inference, that theology and philosophy 
are by nature repugnant ; that harmony between them must 
involve heresy ; and that if a man would not be an infidel 
or worse, he must know none of the philosophers, and noth* 
ing of their science ; he must discard Locke, and lieid, and 
Edwards, along with Coleridge, and Kant, and Cabanis ; he 
must abominate the whole race of metaphysicians, English, 
Scotch, French, German and American, and even eschew 
the teachings of his own observation and consciousness. 
Now the fact affirmed in this assault upon the science is not 
disputed. In the primitive age, as soon as Christianity 
numbered among its converts men imbued with the learning 
of the Greeks, the gospel began to be adulterated by ad- 
mixtures of the gentile wisdom. The dogmas of a pagan 



TO THE MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL. 321 

pTiIlosophj were combined with the word of God. Gnos- 
ticism and Platonism were soon embosomed in the church. 
In every age since, prevalent errors in the faith of the 
church, or the creed of her doctors, have resulted from prev- 
alent errors in philosophy. In this sense, it is true, that 
metaphysics have engendered the greatest heresies. What 
Tertullian remarked sixteen hundred years ago, we may re- 
peat now, ipsce denique h-cereses a pJdlosophia suhornantur. 
But the melancholy fact only justifies an inference the very 
opposite of that drawn by the contemners and rejecters of 
mental science. 

Not only does this fact show that a correct mental phi- 
losophy is important to secure the minister himself from a 
perverted theology ; it also declares his absolute need of 
such knowledge, in order to defend the faith from the cor- 
ruptions of " science falsely so called." When a subtle op- 
poser of the gospel entrenches himself in positions furnished 
by a groundless system of metaphysics, and distorts and 
discolors the truth by the illusions of a vain philosophy, 
what better defence, what more, triumphant vindication, can. 
there be, than to unmask and lay bare that philosophy, to 
search and sift that metaphysical system, and expose to the 
world its emptiness, or its crudities and monstrosities ? 
Thus, when Pelagius assailed the doctrines of grace, and 
boldly denounced them as inconsistent with man's account' 
ability, Augustine rendered a high service to religion by 
demonstrating the falseness and puerility of the Pelagian phi- 
losophy. So, when a long series of writers, from Arminius 
down to Whitby, had endeavored to heap discredit on the 
same doctrines, as at variance with the freedom of the hu- 
man will, Jonathan Edwards did just the best thing that 
could have been done for the cause of religion, by demolish- 
ing the whole scheme of Arminian metaphysics. And it was 
his skill in mental science, his acuteness and discrimination 
28 



322 THE VALUE OF MENTAL PHILOSPHY 

in analyzing complex tliouglits and feelings, which enabled 
him to lay open, as he did under a resistless splendor of 
light, the tissues of nonsense, absurdity and contradiction, 
which these theologians had intertangled in a complicated 
snarl. It was this very science which specially qualified 
him to walk up to the highest and best fortified strong-holds 
of the enemy, fortresses on which the labor of years had 
been expended in the erecting and strengthening, and to 
prostrate them at a blow ; tumbling them over and crush- 
ing them as a giant would a baby-house : or, to use the il- 
lustration of an English writer, scattering them to the 
winds, as the musketry of a regiment would disperse the 
occupants and the accumulated contents of some dark old 
rookery. 

If the grand doctrines of the gospel are now again en- 
dangered by the speculations of a new philosophy, or of that 
same antiquated philosophy in a modern dress, [idem, liabitu 
mutato), this is no reason for discarding mental science. 
Let the advocates and apologists for error never be able 
to speak of the firmest adherents to the orthodox theology 
as opposed to research and progress in the study of the 
mind. As a renowned master in theology wrote nearly a 
century ago, " There is no need that the strict philosophic 
truth should be at all concealed from men ; no danger in 
contemplation and profound discovery in these things^ As 
a venerated living teacher has said, " On this subject, es- 
pecially, smattering is to he deprecated^ Let those apolo- 
gists and advocates penetrate as far as they please into what 
they announce as a newly discovered territory ; and let the 
defenders of the primitive faith pursue them fearlessly, and 
see whether it be terra Jirma, or some mere fairy-land, or 
fog-land. If it be " a murky or misty region," carry the 
blazing torch of demonstrated truth into every cloudy cave 
and den ; emcompass every fastness where error lurks, and 



TO THE MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL. 32)^ 

pour in the fire of a burning logic. Tlie surest way to get 
protection from the open, and especially the secret ravages 
of a mischievous beast, is to hunt him dov/n in his own lair. 

But here it is again objected, these studies generate a 
metaphysical theology. Much clamor there has been about 
metaphysical theology, and senseless, too, coming from per- 
sons who know not whereof they affirm ; as if a metaphysi- 
cal theology must necessarily be a wide ocean of unsettled 
and floating points, or an arid waste of barren abstractions, 
or a thick jungle of dark and knotty questions. This mis- 
apprehension, however, may now be passed by, in order to 
remark, that a pure Christian theology, derived legitimately 
from the Bible, is what we would have. But for such a the- 
ology, a knowledge of the laws of the mind is a most im- 
portant preparation. Some of the most important doctrines 
and precepts of Christianity have exclusive reference to 
mental tendencies, exercises and changes. Among the 
prominent topics in a Christian theology, are the nature and 
necessity of repentance and faith ; the origin, nature and 
extent of depravity ; the characteristics and consequences 
of sin ; the origin and progress of sanctification ; the nature 
of true holiness or virtue ; the evidences of piety, the graces 
which are the fruit of the Spirit. On these topics the Bible 
teaches nothing but what harmonizes perfectly with every 
fact and truth which can be ascertained by consciousness 
and observation. He, therefore, who has the most enlarged 
and most exact acquaintance with such truths and facts, will 
be the best guarded against mistakes in examining the re- 
lations and connections of the topics just named ; the most 
likely to apprehend the real meaning of the scriptural rep- 
resentations ; and, of course, the best prepared to obtain 
the true biblical theology. 

This suggests another consideration, which further evinces 
the value of a correct mental science. Every man's in- 



824 THE VALUE OF MENTAL PHILOSOPHY 

terpretation of certain passages will inevitably take a col- 
oring from his previous views in mental philosophy ; and 
the result of incorrect views may be an utter perversion of 
the gospel. The remedy for this will not be obtained by 
enjoining a profound ignorance of the science, under the 
mistaken idea, that to interpret in such darkness will best 
secure impartiality. For, in the first place, no man can 
come to the work of interpretation entirely destitute of no- 
tions on the subjects of mental science. One of the lay- 
preachers under John Wesley, being on a certain occasion 
asked if he could read the Bible, is said to have answered, 
" O ! no ; mother reads, and I 'splains and 'spounds." A 
man as illiterate as that explainer and expounder would 
bring to the work some notions respecting mental powers 
and acts. Nor will any injunctions to heep free from pre- 
conceptions eradicate one's previous notions, whether he is 
ignorant or learned ; and the only remedy for wrong ideas is 
to displace them by more full and correct science. In the 
second place, if a man could be divested and actually 
should be divested of all such notions, he would by that 
very means be rendered incapable of understanding the 
most important passages of the Bible. Who could possibly 
understand any one of the passages which speak of faith, 
if he were perfectly destitute of previous notions respecting 
the acts or feelings of mind involved in belief or assent ta a 
proposition ? And who, without having also some previous 
notions respecting the mental exercise called hope, and the 
mental process called sight, could put any intelligible mean- 
ing upon that acute and beautiful definition given by Paul, 
" Faith is the substance of things hoped for, and the evi- 
dence of things not seen ?" Here, however, let us guard 
against misapprehension. By no means would we commend 
that infidel proceeding, which first builds a system of doc- 
trines by human reason, and then forces the Scriptures to 



TO THE MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL. 325 

conform to that system. The word of God is not to be 
crushed and broken to pieces by the machinery of man's 
logic, in order to reduce its statements to the form and mea- 
sure of a preconceived philosophy ; the seed of heavenly 
truth is not to be ground over and comminuted with the 
leaven and spices of worldly wisdom ; by such a process 
the bread of life may be changed into a preparation as fatal 
as the poison of asps. Most impious and presumptuous is 
it to construct by philosophy a Procrustean frame, and 
stretch and trim the Bible to make it coincident and con- 
terminous therewith. Yet we insist, that a man's interpre- 
tation of the Bible will inevitably be influenced by his pre- 
vious views of the human mind, and hence it is unspeakably 
important, that those views should be correctly formed in 
the fear and love of God ; for that philosophy which does 
not harmonize with the Bible must be false. 

In order to be a sound theologian, scarcely any intellectu- 
al trait is more essential than caution in distino-uishinor be- 

O O 

tween ascertained facts and speculative modes of explaining 
facts. The man who has the most full and accurate knowl- 
edge of the mind is the very man who will best make such 
discrimination ; while just in proportion as a man is destitute 
of such knowledge, will be his danger of being beguiled by 
a deceitful philosophy, which palms off mere hypotheses for 
facts, or what is as bad, and in theology more common, ex- 
plains away facts which are nomina,liy admitted. One of the 
most frequent modes of introducing a false theology is to at- 
tach to received terms an explanation, which really abandons 
the thing, although it retains the name. No enemies of re- 
ligion do more mischief than a class of men, who may be 
called miners under the mask of orthodoxy, whose ostensi- 
ble creed seems to include the evangelical doctrines, but 
whose real belief involves a full denial of them. While the 
very foundations of Christian godliness are thus sapped, we 

28* 



826 THE VALUE OF MENTAL PHILOSOPHY 

may be told tliat the grand facts of tlie gospel are still main- 
tained. When, however, a man affirms, " I hold to the great 
revealed fact of Christ's divinity,"" and yet, in explaining that 
divinity, makes it consist merely in miraculous endowments, 
received from God, we contend that he does not hold to the 
revealed fact ; he puts in its place his own fancy ; he, in 
truth, believes only what is wholly at variance with the in- 
spired testimony. Some say, " only let a man adhere to the 
grand facts of the gospel, and we will not quarrel with his 
philosophy." This is very well, provided the philoso|)hy be 
consistent with the facts ; but if a theologian proclaims a 
philosophy which really subverts those facts, then fidelity to 
the truth and to the souls of men, requires us to expose 
that philosophy as false and pernicious. 

Here it should be specially observed, that some revealed 
facts are really the explanations of other revealed facts ; and 
we are bound to receive the facts explanatory^ as well as the 
facts explained. What the Bible states, for example, re • 
specting the nature of regeneration, is mere matter of fact ; 
and yet it is also the philosophical or metaphysical explana- 
tion of the manner in which Christians are renewed. What 
the Bible teaches respecting the nature of the atonement 
consists of a mere statement of facts ; but these facts never- 
theless form a philosophical explanation of the manner in 
which Christ saves the sinner. The theologian who admits 
as a fact, that Christians are regenerated, but rejects the 
scriptural account of the nature of regeneration, or admits 
as a fact, that the sinner is saved by Christ, and yet rejects 
the scriptural account of the nature of the atonement, as 
truly puts his own reason above the Bible, as if he utterly 
denied that men are regenerated or are saved by Christ. A 
theory, falsifying the scriptural mode of regeneration or the 
scriptural mode of atonement, is as perfectly repugnant to 
the facts of the gospel, as a bare-faced rejection of those 



TO THE MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL. 327 

doctrines ; and the propagation of such a theory may be far 
more fatal to religion. Dr. Channing, at one period, at 
least, acknowledged Jesus to be the Savior of sinners ; but 
he supposed the mode to be simply by instruction and ex- 
ample ; and with an audacity truly shocking, he denounced 
the evangelical notion of the atonement as making the cross 
of Christ " the great central gallows of the universe." 

These remarks remind us of the illusive influence of mere 
names and terms, and of the value of an exact mental phi- 
losophy in helping to raise the theologian above it. In all 
disputes, those on religious subjects not excepted, much of the 
argument often consists in what has been very aptly called, 
" the logic of odious appellations." To deal out opprobrious 
epithets is an easy thing, requiring little learning and less 
talents ; saving both time and thought ; more instantly effi- 
cacious, too, than the soundest reasoning ; for an argument 
moves no one until it is understood ; while some persons may 
be filled with a frenzy of opposition to an opinion or doctrine 
by the mere hearing of a bad name applied to it, very much 
as some dogs may be made to run and bark at nothing, if the 
master only cries out and points away with his finger, as if 
there were a wolf or a villain in the field. Often the theo- 
logical welkin has rung with tumultuous sounds, as sect has 
encountered sect, and party answered party, with thick vol- 
leys of these empty explosions. It is as if mount Ebal were 
set over against mount Ebal, and the divided hosts of the 
church gathered on one and on the other, to pour out curs- 
ings from both mounts with no blessing. At different peri- 
ods in ecclesiastical history, different alarm-cries have echoed 
around, like the voice of deejD calling unto deep, with the 
noise of many waters. The theologian must get planted on 
the truth, with such a foothold that he shall not be driven 
from it, nor made ashamed of it, nor afraid of it by any form 
or fury of an idle warfare of breath and sound. And in 



328 THE VALUE OF MENTAL PHILOSOPHY 

this respect, suitable attainments in mental philosopliy will 
be of special service, as helping him to distinguish form 
from substance, a mere name from a real thing; to say in- 
telligently, res, 71071 verba quceso. 

Such attainments, it may be further remarked, will in- 
volve a knowledge of the difference between names and 
things in those very instances which are most of all impor- 
tant to the theologian. For scarcely is there a more pro- 
lific source of puerilities, paradoxes, sophisms and dangerous 
errors in theology, than the confounding together of very 
different things, under such terms as power, cause, law, and 
the like. A striking example is found in the following sen- 
tence from a recent work, very benevolently intended by the 
author to rescue the church and the world from the blight- 
ing effects of Edwards' Treatise on the Will. " In the 
physical world law reigns ; in the moral world, law is vio- 
lated." Here, under the term law, are confounded two 
things, toto ccelo different. The only law which is violated 
in the moral world, is some rule or command addressed to 
an intelligent mind ; and law, in such a sense, the literal 
sense of the term, does not reign in the physical world ; 
it has nothing to do with the physical world ; for law in 
the physical world is not a command or a rule of duty 
addressed to intelligence and choice, but merely a statement 
of a general fact, asserting what actually does take place ; 
and law, in this sense, ihQ figurative sense of the term, is 
not violated in the moral world, but reigns unviolated, as 
uniformly and as perfectly as it does in the physical. Thus 
gross confusions may result from merely overlooking the 
difference between a name and a thing. By the force of 
such confusion, concentrated in the brevity of a proverb, 
men may imagine themselves to have gathered into that sen- 
tentious brevity a resistless demonstration ; but the reason- 
ing- brings to mind certain lines of Cowper : 



TO THE MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL. 329 

" Where others toil with philosophic force, 
Their nimble nonsense takes a shorter course ; 
riings at your head conviction in the lump, 
And gains remote conclusions at a jump." 

Here, it ought also to be urged, that it is a correct mental 
philosophy alone, which shows what sort of knowledge re- 
specting laws of nature, and respecting powers and causes, 
really lies within human reach. Nothing but perplexity 
and error in theology, as in every other study, will result 
from imagining that human science can ever, in any thing 
except pure deductions from hypothetic definitions, go be- 
yond a Baconian classification of actual phenomena. 

This classification, based on a peculiar variety or species 
of resemblance, constitutes the true philosophy ; a classifica- 
tion which arranges under a common head various phenome- 
na, on the ground of their being all effects of one cause. 
Newton's discovery of the great law of gravitation is merely 
such a classification, combining under a general term a vast 
multitude of analogous effects. The term gravitation is often 
used, it is true, as if we had, in adopting it, grasped a recoil- 
dite cause, and obtained a grand explanation why the apple 
falls to the ground, and the earth tends to the sun ; and yet 
the whole amount of the explanation is a bare statement 
that both phenomena are effects of the same cause ; the cause 
itself is something perfectly unknown to us, except as we in- 
stinctively and irresistibly believe the unknown something 
to exist, and to be the cause of these analogous effects. The 
same is true of every other term employed to designate a 
law of nature. Philosophy can go no deeper. Much ado 
men may perhaps make about powers and " forces," and 
" energizing causes," the " vital dynamics," and " the ulti- 
mate causes of all being ;" but the whole is a mere obfusca- 
tion ; they may raise a fog and mist, possibly a miasma ; at 
the best, nothing but a great darkness, brooding upon the 



330 THE VALUE OF MENTAL PHILOSOPHY 

face of all things ; the most brilliant genius may send his 
most perspicacious search into this, by some considered, all- 
comprising ocean of the absolute, the only true and real ; 
but he will find it every where an empty profound ; long and 
loudly may he call for the voices and forms of wisdom to 
come out of it, but it will be like the mightiest magician, 
when his spell is broken ; for he calleth in vain ; not a spirit 
peeps or mutters in reply, in all the "vasty deep." What- 
ever amount of knowledge may ever be acquired respecting 
laws and causes, it will be of the kind above specified. The 
only causes which human science will develop, are such as 
some have chosen to term physical causes, in distinction from 
efficient. The only dependence of one created thing upon 
another, which man can ever discover, is their actual con- 
nection and conjunction. He will only know, to express it 
algebraically, that the phenomenon a is conjoined, in the 
operations of matter or mind, with the phenomenon x, so 
that in those operations, the one is the appointed forerunner 
to the other, or in the phrase of the younger Edwp.rds, " the 
stated antecedent,'' 

" There are minds, prophetic hope may trust. 
That shimber yet in uncreated dust, 
Ordained to light with intellectual day 
The mazy wheels of nature as they play." 

Yet no light of intellectual day can ever carry mart's dis- 
coveries beyond a discovery of the actual conjunctions of 
things. Philosophy, when advanced to her ultima tliule^ 
will leave man's information respecting causation amounting 
simply to this, that one phenomenon is adapted to produce 
another by an inscrutable fitness originating in the will of 
the Creator; 

^ ^ # "in the high will of HeaveE 
Which fixes all ; makes adamant of air,. 
Or air of adamcint; makes all of nought. 
Or nought of all." 



TO THE MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL. 331 

Thus we may see how deep in our mental constitution is 
laid the foundation for the idea of a God. Every observed 
change instantly and irresistibly awakens the inquiry, what 
caused that change ? No sooner does discovery give an an- 
swer, than the same irresistible instinct then further de- 
mands, why does that discovered cause produce that effect ? 
And if another discovery brings to view a third phenomenon 
or fact, as the reason, the question still again recurs, why 
does this phenomenon produce such an effect? And thus, 
by an irresistible procedure, the mind runs up to a point 
where the only answer to its question is, " an infinite Al- 
mighty will is the cause." This probably is what certain 
advocates of a so called "spiritual philosophy" term an 
" internal finding ; " and when they decry all our labored 
demonstrations in natural theology, our " Paley arguments,'* 
and " Bridgewater Treatises," pronouncing them nothing but 
" warehouse collections of mere physical facts," of things 
visible and tangible, which the senses can perceive, and the 
understanding perhaps count and label, but which they insist 
are all mute as the grave respecting a God, until the pure 
reason within reveals the " idea of the Infinite," and thus 
intuition first makes known the very Deity which " sensuous 
philosophers " pretend to demonstrate ; the whole meaning 
of all this, when winnowed out, is simply what we have 
above stated ; if there were not that instinctive procedure of 
the mind, demanding a cause for every observed change, 
and a cause for every connection of a phenomenon with the 
phenomenon it produces, there could be no external evi- 
dence of the existence of a God. However novel this 
truth may have seemed to those who have uttered it with 
such oracular obscurity, and with so much " pomp and cir- 
cumstance," and to those who have listened to the utterance 
with such a gape of admiration, it is nothing new to the de- 
fenders of those despised demonstrations ; nor was it hidden 



832 THE VALUE OF MENTAL PHILOSOPHY 

from the authors of them ; it was the very ground and in- 
ducement for their labor. Had not Paley, and good father 
Ray, and old Socrates, too, known and felt that transcending 
by which the soul goes over and beyond phenomena wit- 
nessed, to inquire after and believe in a cause why the phe- 
nomena exist, and exist in one precise manner rather than 
another, they never would have thought of selecting and 
arranging, as the Greek philosopher did, more than two 
thousand years ago, those interesting facts which so clearly 
indicate to the human mind a designing author of nature. 
But as the most familiar and beautiful object, viewed 
through a dark or foggy atmosphere, is often transformed 
into some strange, distorted prodigy, so this well known 
truth, being to some seers encompassed with a singular 
haze, is virtually to them a great misshappen falsehood ; for 
they, take it as involving the notion, that God's existence 
and attributes cannot be proved by the argument which, 
from effects seen, infers an unseen cause ; and thus they put 
themselves into such a predicament of philosophy, that they 
never can, without an equivocation or a mental reservation, 
either exclaim with David, " the heavens declare the glory 
of God, and the firmament showeth his handy work," or 
affirm with Paul, " the invisible things of God, even his 
eternal power and godhead, are clearly seen from the crea- 
ation of the world, being understood by the things that are 

made." 

" The true philosophy, baptized 
In the pure fountain of eternal love, 
Has eyes indeed; and viewing all she sees, 
As meant to indicate a God to man, 
Gives Him his praise, and forfeits not her own." 

In the moving orbs of heaven she reads 

" Fair hieroglyphics of his peerless power, 
Marks how the labyrinthian turns they take, 



TO THE MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL. 333 

Their circles intricate and mystic maze, 
Weave the grand cypher of Omnipotence ; 
To gods how great ! hovv legible to man ! " 

But to return ; a correct mental pliilosopiiy shows the 
limits of our knowledge respecting causation and power. 
And a just apprehension on this single point opens sun-light 
upon the darkest of the dark places in theology, for it grasps 
the distinction between uncreated, independent power and 
all power that is created. Respecting the power of God, 
in either the highest or the lowest degree of its exercise, 
the human mind knows simply and only this, that God wills ^ 
and the thing ivilled takes place. God said, " Let there be 
light, and light was." His power, in its very nature, is 
omnipotence. In the language of Dr. Stephen "West, " we 
know not what agency there is of the Deity besides the ex- 
ercises of his will ; nor what power he puts forth more than 
willing." Kespecting power in a creature, whether animate 
or inanimate, material or spiritual, or a compound of both, 
the human mind knows simply this, that there is belonging 
to that creature a fitness or adaptedness to receive from an 
appropriate cause, either internal or external, some change 
in itself, or to produce, as an appropriate cause, a change in 
something else ; a fitness or adaptedness, both originated and 
sustained by the will of God, and constituting the peculiar 
nature of each creature, whether a stone, a tree, a snail, a 
man, or a seraph. Thus philosophically, as well as poeti- 
cally, it Is true that 

" The Lord of all, himself through all diiFused, 
Sustains, and is the life of all that lives ; 
Nature is but a name for an effect, 
Whose cause is God. He feeds the sacred fire, 
By which the mighty process is maintained." 

God's volition is the ultimate cause, which, in a way 

wholly inscrutable to man, unites phenomenon to phenome- 
29 



334 THE VALUE OF MENTAL PHILOSOPHY 

non, effect to cause, and property to essence, in both tlie 
material and the spiritual creation. Man's volition, in its 
highest exercise, is one of the various phenomena of the 
spiritual creation, and whatever real connection it has rnth 
any other phenomenon produced by it, concomitant or sub- 
sequent) that connection must have been somehow consti- 
tuted by the divine will. Had not, for example, God's om- 
nipotent will established a certain connection between the 
mental volitions and the nerves and muscles of the body, 
a man could not move his leg or his arm by volition, any 
more than he could by volition hurl the Alleghanies and 
the Andes into the Pacific Ocean, or fling the earth into the 
centre of the sun. And had not the same Almighty will 
established a certain connection betv/een the volitions and 
that something or other (whatever it is, antecedent or con- 
comitant,) which produces them, a man could not have a vo- 
lition any more than he could annihilate the existing uni- 
verse, or create another as vast and splendid. No matter 
what particular theory or fancy any one may adopt respect- 
ing the actual cause of his volition ; its connection with its 
cause, ivhatever that cause may he, must be derived from the 
will of Him in whom we live and move and have our being. 
It is an eminent advantage of correct mental science, 
that it forces us to notice the limits of human knowledge. 
Thus it teaches us to receive truths which stand to each 
other in such a relation as, by their seeming repugnancCj 
to constitute mysteries. When two truths hold this corre- 
lation, if either of them is rejected, the other becomes a 
falsehood ; for example, God's omnipresence in all things, 
and his distinct objective existence independent of all things; 
the unity and plurality of the God-head ; the absolute de- 
pendence, and the entire accountability of man. Superfi- 
cial reasoning may renounce one or the other for the ap- 
parent contradiction, but a profound philosophy embraces 



TO THE MINISTER OP THE GOSPEL. 335 

both as essential truth. It maj be worthy of remark here, 
that every actually existing object, the mere insect, the spire 
of grass, the dew-drop, the microscopic animalculse dv,^elling 
in it, involves a contradiction truly analogous to that which 
a haughty rationalism charges upon the Trinity ; for, as the 
French philosopher, Cousin, generalizes it, (and few of that 
Frenchman's obscure abstractions embosom as much good 
meaning), " Reality is the simuhaneity of unity and plu- 
rality ;" and it may be added, that all the contradictoriness 
which proud hearts have found in other evangelical doc- 
trines, is but the actual co-existence of properties or acts 
seemingly repugnant ; yet seeming so only in consequence 
of some groundless prejudice or accidental association. It 
is a striking remark of Mr. Townsend, the very sensible 
writer on Mesmerism, as just as it is striking ; " All intel- 
ligence that is not limited is God ; and, in the force of the 
restrictions which confine the creature (paradoxical as it 
may sound), consist the independence of its action and the 
liberty of its vAiV There is a kindred affirmation, with 
more beauty in it, by the evangelical Thoiuck, whose piety 
and love of truth have shone amid the surroundino; sloom of 
infidelity, almost as if the star of Bethlehem had risen upon 
Egyptian darkness ; " True freedom," says Thoiuck, " ex- 
ists only where there is necessity, as true humanity only 
where there is divinity." The moment a man justly appre- 
hends the distinction between created and uncreated pov\^er, 
he discovers the perfect emptiness of those " great swelling 
words," which have aofain and again been uttered against 
all evangelical theology as involving an " iron fatalism ;" 
for then he sees, that, while \\\q fatum 3fohometanum is a 
stupid plea for sheer idleness, and the fatum Stoicum, an 
impudent apology for want of feeling, the fatum Christia- 
num, if any person chooses to apply such a term and epithet, 



336 THE VALUE OF MENTAL PHILOSOPHY 

(we would not), is merely that pronouncing and decreeing 
of God. hy which He ordains all things in infinite wisdom. 
From overlooking this distinction, and losing sight of the 
essential element of created power, men have advanced 
very remarkable opinions respecting what is requisite for 
accountable moral agency. Power of contrary choice with- 
out contrary inducement, liberty of indifference, choice be- 
fore the first choice, self-determination of will, a will which 
is a person, but which has no nature, and cannot acquire a 
nature nor possess one a moment, without becoming a thing 
instead of a person, — these and other notions equally bril- 
liant and profound have been excogitated in the kind en- 
deavor to make the sinner (what every sinner knows God 
has made him) an accountable agent ; and this, too, by those 
who feel competent to style such men as Calvin, Edwards, 
Fuller, Bellamy, Hopkins, and Emmons, " blind fatalists," 
" stubborn bigots," " dwellers in the dark caves of supersti- 
tion," poor captives, " caught in the cobwebs of their own 
subtlety," " metaphysical murderers of common sense," 
^^ nurses and fondlers of the first-born of absurdities.'' We 
recommend a careful study of mental science, because it 
will help the lover of truth to determine whose doctrine it 
is which perpetrates the foulest murder upon common sense, 
and who are the philosophers that have ushered into being, 
or have nursed and fondled the biggest absurdities. And 
although it has lately been somewhat in fashion, even with- 
in the ostensible ranks of orthodoxy, to speak disparagingly 
of the just named theologians and metaphysicians, in compar- 
ison with modern writers who are professing to bestow upon 
Calvinists " a more rational and spiritual philosophy," we 
shall venture to apply here the words of Sir William Tem- 
ple, in his elegant Essay on Ancient and Modern Learning ; 
" Whoever converses much among the old books will be 



TO THE MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL. 337 

somewhat hard to please among the new ; " and would urge 
upon our young theologians the exhortation of Whitefield to 
S-owland Hill ; " Do not drop the Bible and the old books." 
We shall be expected to notice a somewhat plausible ob- 
jection, lately much urged against the use of mental science 
in theology. The objection assumes that the truths of this 
science are abstractions ; stisfraatizes the reasoning in which 
they are employed as abstract, metaphysical reasoning ; and 
asserts that such reasoning is impertinent in theology, be- 
cause the questions in that study are all questions of fact. 
In the last century it was often objected to Edwards, as it 
is in modern times, that he reasoned abstractl}^ and meta- 
physically ; some one in reply once gently hinted, that " the 
sharp outcry of some men against abstract reasoning might 
be chiefly owing to the concrete fact that they had felt, rather 
more sensibly than personal convenience demanded, a cer- 
tain power it has in screwing and pinching ;" to w^hich we 
may add, that the keen indignation of such persons against 
metaphysics naturally reminds us of a felon's zeal against 
capital punishment ; 

" For who can feel the halter draw, 
With approbation of the law." 

Without delaying here to show, as we might, that the 
truths of mental science or metaphysics are not abstractions, 
more than the truths of theology itself or any other science ; 
and that reasoninsj from such truths is not abstract reasonins:, 
more than reasoning from other truths ; or to demonstrate, as 
Archbishop Whately has clearly done, thai all reasoning Js 
really of one and the same kind ; we have a full answer to 
the whole objection, in this single consideration, viz., that 
neither facts nor reasoning can have practical utility except 
as they may be combined together ; and that it is only by 
applying to observed facts the efforts of abstract reasoning 
29* 



338 THE VALUE OF MENTAL PHILOSOPHY 

that knowledge is advanced in any branch or department. 
The most magnificent and most salutary results of science 
and art are thus effected. In this way alone we have the 
sublime science of Astronomy, and the splendid art of Navi- 
gation. The position of the north star, the inclination of 
the earth's axis, and the polarity of the magnetic needle are 
three observed facts ; but by what magic could an art of 
navigation ever be gathered from these bare realities, unless 
the mind of man were allowed to apply to them its own in- 
ventions and reasonings ? What would become of the 
whole science of mechanics, and all those improvements in 
actual machinery, which hav^e so much augmented the pro- 
ductiveness of labor and capital, if the philosopher might 
not mingle r.bstract propositions with material facts ? The 
expansiveness of steam is an observed fact, now contribu- 
ting immensely to the comfort, and, we hope, to the im- 
provement of mankind ; yet what utility would there be in 
the naked fact, stripped of the relations and connections in 
which mere reasonings, mere mental abstractions, have been 
the means of placing it ? 

We would contend, therefore, in the language of Bishop 
Butler, " It must be allowed just to join abstract reasonings 
with the observation of facts, and to argue from such facts as 
are known to others that are like them." From the great 
truths directly given by inspiration, other useful truths may 
be evolved ; by comparing one revealed fact with another 
revealed fact, new, interesting, momentous relations may be 
discovered. Thus the word of God will be found an ex- 
liaustless mine of wisdom. The Bible, doubtless, like the 
book of nature, is a book to be studied. But do we truly 
study it, if, w^ith our powers of comparison and inference all 
shut up in dark imprisonment, we merely take into a thus 
half-closed understanding the bare historic details, without 
generalizing them or forming any notion of their far-reach- 



TO THE MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL. OOd 

ing relations ? The theologian assuredly must consider the 
truths of religion in their relations to each other, and to 
the truths of other sciences. Nor is it yet too late to adopt 
the memorable words of John Robinson, in our belief, that 
" The Lord hath yet more truth to break forth out of his 
holy word ;" not in the sense that any thing will ever be dis- 
closed to subvert tho doctrines now received as orthodox 
and fundamental, but in another very interesting sense, viz., 
that the truths already seen may infold within their compre- 
hension other truths not yet imagined ; as some seeds em- 
bosom the germs of those that are to spring from them in 
successive years. 

" The young narcissus in its bulb compressed 
Cradles a second nestling on its breast, 
In whose fine arms a younger embryon lies, 
Folds its thin leaves and shuts its floret-eyes ; 
Grain within grain successive harvests dwell. 
And boundless forests slumber in a shell." 

But we must glance at the benefits which the minister, 
considered as r preacher, may derive from a correct philo- 
sophy of the mind. He will realize many, in common with 
the secular orator. Some of these advantages are well as- 
serted in that beautiful fragment of Roman literature, the 
Dialogue on Oratory, M^hich has been ascribed by different 
critics to Quintilian, to Tacitus, and to the younger Pliny. 
A practical knowledge of the laws of mind is the grand 
secret of the orator's art, whether he wishes to convince the 
judgment, to persuade to action, or to infia,me or subdue the 
patesions. Every just rule of the rhetorician and the logi- 
cian has its foundation in these laws. But there are reasons 
that render this science specially necessary to the preacher. 
Sacred oratory aims at peculiar results, such as secular elo- 
quence never contemplates ; results which cannot be secured 



340 THE VALUE OF MENTAL PHILOSOPHY 

without touching springs of human feeling and action, that 
lie deeper in the soul than those addressed by the ordinary 
speaker. The grand design of the pulpit is to make men 
permanently better ; to effect the repentance, reformation, 
sanctification and salvation of sinners. If the pleader at 
the bar or forum cannot gain his merely temporal object, 
unless he has learned human nature, not only in its general 
features, but also in its diversified manifestations, how 
can the preacher hope to succeed fully in bringing eternal 
things home to the bosoms of his hearers, without a similar 
knowledge ? 

It is by a peculiar system of truths, those which he shall 
himself gather from the word of God, that the preacher is to 
operate on his audience. If a full and correct mental phi- 
losophy is of moment to aid him in interpretation and in 
theology, how obviously is it of still greater moment to di- 
rect him in communicating to other minds the truth thus 
obtained, and in bringing it to bear upon men of all classes, 
so as to exert an appropriate and adequate influence on the 
intellect, the heart and the conscience. 

The responsible position of the preacher, as a public in- 
structor, must not here be overlooked. As the most vital 
doctrines of religion hold intimate relations to the mental 
processes and feelings, if the preacher has imperfect, con- 
fused, and contradictory notions of the latter, he will be 
constantly in danger of misrepresenting the former. He 
cannot communicate and preserve in the community clear, 
consistent and sound views. The people thus instructed can 
never be enlightened, discriminating judges of the truth. 
They will not be indoctrinated, to use a term now too un- 
fashionable. The stream never, rises above the fountain. 
Where a cloud of vagueness rests upon the instructions of 
the pulpit, spiritual ignorance and weakness will settle upon 
the people ; and the church, although for a while she may 



TO THE MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL. 341 

continue nominallj orthodox, will ere long be wholly des- 
poiled of her faith. It was thus that the Arminian heresy, 
then the Unitarian, and finally the German neology, gained 
ingress into the churches of Massachusetts. At the time of 
the revival under Whitefield and Tennent, some of the nom- 
inally Calvinistic ministers, destitute themselves of accurate 
and definite views, gave of course but defective and cloudy 
instructions in their preachings The people soon lost nearly 
all discriminating knowledge; orthodox terms sounded in 
their ears, while error after error was getting lodgment in 
their minds ; until at length, after the writings of Whitby 
and Taylor had been industriously circulated, Arminianism 
boldly entered the pulpit. Then the public instructions be- 
came still more loose, and the people were soon ready to 
hear, without a deep shock, the denial of Christ's divinity. 
The deteriorating process went on ; and in 1810, a venera- 
ble doctor of divinity, preaching before the Convention of 
Congregational Ministers, after specifying the doctrines of 
human depravity, the trinity, the deity of Christ, redemption 
by his blood, decrees, election, the special operation of the 
Holy Spirit, and the eternal punishment of the wicked, said, 
" my individual belief in respect to these points can be of 
but little importance. Neque teneo, nequerefello" A more 
recent step in this perilous descent was the avowal that the 
New Testament is not itself a revelation, but merely a falli- 
ble record of revelations made by Christ. And at last, in 
1841, it was blasphemously declared in the pulpit, and in 
an ordination sermon, that •' Christianity has no creed, ex- 
cept that there is a God ;" and that " we never are Chris- 
tians, until we worship the Father as Jesus did, without a 
mediator." Such is the melancholy tale of a declenrlon, 
commencing in the obscure instructions of a ministry riomi- 
nally orthodox. Such the painful result, in a region where 
the candle of the Lord once shone with heavenly brightness 



342 THE VALUE OF MENTAL PHILOSOPHY 

and beauty. What matter for devout praise is it, that 
the Bible, with its distinctive doctrines, yet stands, as from 
century to century it has stood, an impregnable fortress amid 
the shocks of theological controversy, and the assaults of in- 
fidels, rationalists, and deists. It remains, like some prime- 
val forest, lofty and deep-rooted, still towering to heaven in 
all its pristine strength and grandeur, although barbarians 
have toiled for ages in hewing down and plucking up, and 
boastful cultivators and improvers have sought to cut and 
trim it into unnatural and fantastic shapes. Thus shall the 
sacred forest ever abide, and bear fresh leaves for the heal- 
ing of the nations. We cannot forbear to add the ejacula- 
tion, blessed be God that, notwithstanding the apostasies 
just mentioned, the faith of our Puritan fathers is not ban- 
ished from the land of their sepulchres. 

" The pilgrim spirit is not dead ; 

It walks in the moon's broad light, 
And it watches the bed of the glorious dead 

With the holy stars at night." 

But further, there is an adaptation between the truths of 
inspiration and the powers and susceptibilities of the soul. 
The true theology is the very best for securing the precise 
results at which the gospel aims, and for which the work of 
preaching was divinely appointed. Just as far, therefore, as 
a more correct and complete mental science tends towards a 
more correct and complete theology, it also goes to increase 
the efficiency and success of the preacher. Such science will 
also greatly strengthen the preacher's personal conviction 
that there is this adaptation ; a circumstance essential in a 
full stimulus to vigorous effort. TaJ^e away his deep convic- 
tion that the truths he utters are suited, under the gracious 
purposes of God, to bring the mind of the hearer to the atti- 
tude and action which the Bible enjoinsj and you strip him 



TO THE MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL. 343 

at once of his chief power in the pulpit. Despisers mid 
haters of evangelical preaching are puzzled and confounded 
by its astonishing efficacy. Over themselves, when they 
hear it, despisers and haters though they are, it yet exerts a 
mysterious influence. Often are they drawn, they know 
not how or why, to listen to it, even w^hile they quarrel 
with it, or slander and ridicule it. The secret is, the grand 
doctrine of Christ crucified, and the doctrines v.'hich stand 
connected with it, are pre-eminently fitted to stir the intel- 
lect, and touch the conscience, and move the original sensi- 
bilities of the heart. Just in proportion as a man shall 
rightly understand both the gospel and the human mind, he 
will be convinced of this. Every true evangelical preacher 
must to some extent know this ; and the more fully he does 
know and feel it, the m^ore boldly and earnestly he pro- 
claims the doctrines ; and conversions, revivals, and grow- 
ing churches, testify that although the doctrines may be de- 
nounced as mere foolishness, or as stumbling blocks, they 
are, nevertheless, " the wisdom of God^, and the power of 
God." 

It detracts nothing from the force of these remarks, that 
the truths of the gospel prove in fact a savor of death unto 
death to every sinner, unless there accompany them a demon- 
stration of the Spirit and a power from on high. That Spirit 
is indeed a sovereign, and worketh after his own way in the 
soul of man, both to will and to do ; and weak things of this 
world doth he often choose, to confound things that are 
mighty. But his agency is never at variance with the adap- 
tations of the truth he hath himself revealed. When the 
minister preaches the very preaching which the Spirit bids, 
then it is that the Spirit carries the tvorcis of the preaching 
beyond the outward ear, and they waken in the soul ^'■thoughts 
that burn." Whenever a preacher apprehends the grand 
doctrines of the gospel, and the powers and capacities of the 



344 THE VALUE OF MENTAL PHILOSOPHY 

mind most correctlj in their mutual relations, he will then 
most exactly and correctlj take the word of his message from 
the mouth of the Lord ; and then it is that the sword of the 
Spirit will be wielded by him most in accordance witli ^the 
will of the Spirit, and be most likely to prove " sharper than 
any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder 
of the joints and the marrow." 

Hence the entire mistake of supposing it useless for the 
preacher ever to task himself in settling the hard questions 
in morals, and fixing nice distinctions, like that between nat- 
ural ability and moral certainty or philosophical necessity. 
For, with indefMite notions on these points, a man will nev- 
er be a very lucid or pungent preacher ; should he possess 
superior native powers, and an otherwise commanding elo- 
quence, his sermons wo^ild still be wanting in a duly adjusted 
and concentrated pressure on the conscience ; with erroneous 
notions, he will mingle with the most solemn truths something 
calculated directly to counteract their force. In the one 
case, he will rarely, if ever, draw the sword of truth from 
its scabbard ; in the other, he will surely blunt its edge, or 
break«off its point. 

Some there may be, who so much dread the sinner's 
desponding or feeling guiltless under an idea of his impotence, 
that, on the text, " God now commandeth all men, every 
where, to repent," they would occupy more than half 
the sermon in proving that sinners can repent, notwithstan- 
ding all that old-fashioned theologians have said about moral 
inability. Others there may he, who, with the same text, 
would employ as much of the sermon in showing that sinners 
caniiot repent, without the influence of the Holy Spirit, 
notwithstanding all that any theologians, old fashioned or 
new-fashioned, have said about freedom and power. Now 
both these classes of preachers would probably do more good 
by barely reading their text, and then sitting down in si- 



TO THE MINISTER OP THE GOSPEL. 345 

lence ; for the preacliing of both tends to continue, if not to 
encourage, the sinner's procrastination ; both alike keep be- 
fore his mind the two suggestions most of all adverse to in- 
stant conviction, — viz., to take his own time, which every 
sinner means to do, or to wait God's time, which any sinner 
can pretend to do ; and thus, in either case, repentance is 
put off, until, perhaps, the deluded mortal finds that his 
own time is gone, and God's time is indeed come ; the pre- 
cious years of probation all wasted, and the dread hour of ret- 
ribution arrived. Under more correct views of the mutual 
relation between the capacities of the soul and the truths in- 
volved in this text, the preacher would not turn the sinner's 
thoughts specially upon his ability or his inability, but fix 
them upon the holy law of God, and his own multiplied, 
aggravated, and still continued transgressions of it ; and to 
his conscience thus disturbed, would apply and hold with 
a blistering closeness, the simple idea of immediate obliga-- 
tion ; thus the command of the text might be re-echoed 
by the voice within, and realized in the soul of the sinner 
as the present command of a present God ; his own present 
resistance to it be^ forced upon his notice as a present re- 
bellion against that God ; and so the guilt and the destiny 
of the man that contends with his Maker, be revealed to 
liim in appalling brightness. Thus the skilful preacher 
" loads the sinner down," as Dr. Porter well expresses it, 
" with responsibility, guilt and danger, a triple v^^eigiit which 
crushes him." " Conscience kindles a hell in his bosom, and 
the Bible shovv^s him a hell flaming beneath his feet." The 
man thinks on his ways, turns liis feet unto the testimonies 
of God, and makes haste to keep his commandments. 

In all this the preacher would make no parade of philo- 
sophical terms, no displaying or manoeuvring of metaphys- 
ics ; yet without some accurate knowledge of the science, 
he would fail to deal thus thoroughly and wisely. It is not 

m 



S46 THE VALUE OF MENTAL PHILOSOPHY 

therefore, in order to secure metaphysical sermons, that the 
study in question is commended, but in order that the ser- 
mons may be most truly effective and practical. A painter 
must understand anatomy, not because we wish him to make 
dead skeletons instead of living and breathing pictures, but 
because without understanding anatomy he cannot produce 
such pictures. 

Nor will high attainments in metaphysics of necessity 
cause the preacher to convert every pulpit performance into 
a mass of dry bones or withered husks, nor make him always 

* # "on metaphysic pinions soar, 

And wound the patience with his logic thorns ; " 

SO far from it, that he, who constantly attempts thus to feed 
his flock, shows thereby his metaphysics to be very incom- 
plete. A more full science would assure him, that he must 
freely supply quite another aliment ; that the soul has ca- 
pacities and relishes, which require something richer and 
better seasoned ; that in order duly to interest, instruct and 
improve, he must unite a polite and liberal learning to his 
more exact and abstruse knowledge ; that he must combine 
his profound theology with a cultivated taste and generous 
sentiments ; that lively susceptibilities and tender sympa- 
thies must dwell in his own bosom, to enable him to move 
and sway the hearts of others. Thus will his very philo- 
sophy enjoin upon him to address the imagination and the 
affections. Also will it cooperate with the gospel, and with 
the counsels of Baxter, and Doddridge, and Griffin, and 
every godly minister, whose biography he reads, in urging 
him to cultivate, above all things, an elevated piety ; as it 
will plainly tell him, that without fervent godliness, he can 
neither himself grasp those high and deep things of God 
which are spiritually discerned, nor reasonably expect to 
enjoy the help and blessing of the Holy Spirit in his work 



TO THE MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL. 347 

as a " steward of the mysteries ; " and will also tell him, 
that ardent piety is essential even as a passport to the confi- 
dence of his hearers ; for there must be a j^ersonal holiness, 
to satisfy others that he himself draws from the fountain of 
living waters to which he invites and urges them, and to 
throw around him that daily savor of heaven which will im- 
part the happiest influence to his pulpit efforts. 

" "When one that holds communion with the skies, 
Has filled his urn Avhere these pure waters rise, 
And once more mingles with us meaner things, 
'Tis e'en as if an angel shook his wings ; 
Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide, 
That tells us whence his treasures are supplied." 

But, after all, the workman that rightly divideth the word 
of God, giving to every one a due portion, will not be 
ashamed of a metaphysical sermon, of the right stamp, and 
in the right time and place. That there is a general horror 
of every such thing, is often said, and it must be confessed, 
that we see in the church, and in the age, a tendency to put 
a higher value upon brilliancy of fancy, and liveliness and 
variety of illustration and imagery, than upon really pro- 
found thought or exact truth ; the showy pleases rather 
than the solid ; that which is novel, more than that which. 
is acute or comprehensive ; the sparkling and witty, instead 
of that which convinces and instructs. Still, there is reason 
to suspect, that the proclaimed horror of profoundly doctri- 
nal and truly philosophical sermons, consists somewhat less 
in the people's dread of hearing them, than in the minister's 
dread of writing them. For the fact is, that every person 
will take a sort of pleasure in any performance which 
arouses his intellect, and occupies its activity. Most hear- 
ers love to feel that mental elevation, of which they are 
made conscious when they find their thoughts grappling 



84B THE VALUE OF MENTAL PHILOSPHT 

with some great subject, as they are led along by the 
preacher in a lucid argument. Obscurity and perplexity in 
a sermon no man likes. But tame, trite thoughts, mere 
common-place views, are quite as disrigreeable. The most 
illiterate choose to be addressed as having some knowledge, 
and the most stupid as having some capacity ; and none will 
yield a close and profitable attention, unless the speaker 
offers something to awaken curiosity and promise a reward. 
It has been stated, that formerly, in a certain church in 
Massachusetts, there was an officer whose business it was to 
wake up sleepers at meeting ; that he carried a long pole, 
with a hard ball at one end and a fox's tail at the other. 
"We do not imagine, that a great increase of profound philo- 
sophical preaching would occasion any new demand for the 
ball to rap the sconces of the males, or even the fox tail 
to brush the cheeks of the fair ones. It is not when the 
pulpit utters deep, solid, elaborated thought, that leaden 
slumbers creep along the pews, but 

" When dullness mounts the sacred rostrum 
And deals about his drowsy nostrum." 

The preacher should never leave his hearers at the point of 
acquisition where he takes them. If he must sometimes 
come down to meet their attainments, it should be done only 
for the purpose of raising them up higher. New England 
divines of a former generation did not hesitate to task their 
audiences with discussions, demanding the closest attention 
and the severest thought ; on subjects, and in a manner, too, 
which are now termed metaphj/sical ; to apply the language 
of Wordsworth, they 

=^ * " often touched 
Ahstrusest matter, reusonings of the mind. 
Turned inward,*' 



TO THE MINISTER OP THE GOSPEL. 349 

Perhaps they went too far in this line ; some persons may 
sneer at them with the exclamation, " What superfluities are 
reasoning souls," or slander them in the language of Vol- 
taire respecting such writers as the English Dr. Clarke, as 
"mere reasoning machines;" but they were men of noble 
heart as well as stout intellect, and their logic was ever fired 
by a glowing zeal for Christ and for human happiness. And 
we would contend that even a little excess, in the way of 
rigrid reasonins::, would be less a mischief, than uniform com- 
pliance with the loose, superficial, story-telling fashion, 
which has had so many imitators. Doubtless there are 
babes every where, and always will be, who are to be fed 
with milk. But if the preacher never distributes any meat, 
and especially if he never has any meat to distribute, how 
long will the church possess the strong men to rear or 
guard her bulwarks, to fight her battles or extend her con- 
quests ? Both preachers and people will be stunted to a 
dwarfish littleness, or obtain merely a growth of pale and 
sickly weakness. The waters of salvation, to which the 
gospel invites both the famishing soul of the sinner, now 
wandering in the wilderness, without God and without hope, 
and the rejoicing spirit of the saint, now approaching the 
gates of the city in the heavens, are all life-giving waters ; 
but they are not of one sounding in all parts ; there are, as 
Augustine is quoted, " shallows v.-here the lamb may ford, 
and depths where the elephant may swim." The preacher 
must not always confine himself to the shallows. He must 
dive to the lowest recesses, that he may bring up thence 
pearls of truth, fresh and glittering. It is not enough to 
take at second hand the richest gems procured by others. 
Intellectual wealth from its very nature, cannot be a bor- 
rowed article ; it must be an actual possession ; and truth in 
an important sense, is not truth, except to the mind that, by 
personal effort, draws it from the well for itself. There 

30* 



350 THE VALUE OP MENTAL PHILOSOPHY 

must be deep, active reflection, in order to appropriate, to 
much benefit, the thoughts of others ; thus the very act of 
real, successful appropriation must always be in fact a sort 
of re-discovery or re-production, rather than a mere passive 
reception. If a preacher would cultivate and fructify his 
hearers, he must keep up in his own mind a perpetual self- 
discipline and self-culture, and thus stimulate their minds to 
wakeful curiosity and vigorous thought. The " legate of 
the skies " must " arm himself in panoply complete, of 
heavenly temper," and " train by every rule of holy disci- 
pline, the sacramental host of God's elect." 

Nor need the young preacher fear, that his study of men- 
tal science, or his application of it in preparing his sermons, 
will necessarily interfere with the exercise of imagination 
and invention. Deep metaphysical research and great im- 
agination are by no means incompatible. A familiar ex- 
ample of their union is found in Thomas Brown, whose im- 
aginative powers w^ere of the highest order, and w^ho yet 
has rarely been excelled in acute analysis of mental opera- 
tions. He is by no means a perfect model in fine writing ; 
and in philosophy he sometimes grossly errs, especially in 
the fundamental questions in morals ; he is only mentioned 
here as a striking instance to illustrate the assertion, that 
one may go earnestly into mental philosophy, and yet not 
petrify his soul in the stiff forms of logic, nor dry up the 
fountains of feeling and fancy. A man may be wedded to 
philosophy, without being divorced even from poetry. A 
fine instance also is aiiorded in the Grecian Plato. He was 
indeed an able metaphysician, not absurdly styled by Cole- 
ridge " a divine philosopher, a plank from the wreck of Par- 
adise, thrown on the shores of idolatrous Greece;" but he 
possessed brilliant powders of imagination, which shine in his 
dialogues, perhaps as splendidly as they could in a poem, 
and which occasioned in his style a profusion of ornament 



TO THE MINISTER OP THE GOSPEL- 351 

for which some ancient critics, (so Longinus affirms), cen- 
sured him, as " hurrying into raw, undigested metaphors, 
and a vain pomp of allegory." But examples from the 
history of the pulpit will be more pertinent, and here Chal- 
mers might not unfairly be cited; for while all his sermons 
exhibit a striking power of imagination, by which he con- 
trives to present a single idea again and again in some new 
and glowing combination, thus wonderfully expanding every 
thought he utters, and v/hile turning it over and over, giving 
at every turn a fresh coloring and richer beauty, his 
Bridgewater Treatise shows no mean capacity for the pecu- 
liar studies of the metaphysician. Barrow, too, of earlier 
times, who loved to fight his fellows when a boy, and to 
grapple the abstrusest speculations and severest mathemat- 
ics when a man, does not appear in his sermons as a dry 
skeleton, moving stiffly and slowly among black diagrams 
and ghostly abstractions, but rather like some fabled genius 
of superhuman strength, sweeping along in a sort of beau- 
teous majesty, yet with resistless force, amid images of rich 
and varied combination. To Barrow, as an " armory of 
words," Burke is said to have resorted when equipping for 
a speech in Parliament ; and Chatham, we have been told, 
directed his son to the same preacher for help in clothing 
and adorning his conceptions. Scarcely is there a name 
more famous in metaphysical theology than that of Augus- 
tine : yet he was by no means deficient in sensibility and 
imagination ; his work entitled City of God, exhibits splen- 
did attainments in liberal learning ; and so earnest and pa- 
thetic was he as a preacher, that he is represented by way 
of eminence, as "the man of flowing heart." Not even in 
our own immortal Edwards, whom Robert Plall pronounced 
" the greatest of the sons of men," and whom some among 
the Germans themselves acknowledge as more profound 
than Kant, not even in Edwards were the powers of fancj 



352 THE VALUE OF MENTAL PHILOSOPHY 

wholly repressed by the heavy mail of argumentation, in 
which his giant intellect always appears clad. There are pas- 
sages in his writings, which evince not only quick and keen 
sensibility, but a lively imagination. For example, speak- 
ing of his early religious experience, he says, " the soul of a 
true Christian, as I then wrote my meditations, appeared 
like a little white flower, such as we see in the spring of 
the year, low and humble on the ground, opening its bosom 
to receive the beams of the sun's glory ; rejoicing as it 
were in a calm rapture ; diffusing around a sweet fragrancy ; 
standing peacefully and lovingly in the midst of other flowers 
round about, all in like manner opening their bosoms to 
drink in the light of the sun." It has been said, "when 
flowers shall spring in a soil of granite, then may we expect 
the beauties of poetry from a mind like that of Jonathan 
Edwards;" but he was a genuine lover of nature; "he saw 
the earth and the skies full of symbols of spiritual truths 
and beauties, all speaking to him of God and the Savior ; 

" To /i/m, the meanest flower that blows could give 
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears ;" 

and he might have been a poet, had he chosen. A most 
close observer of outward occurrences, he would have made 
an eminent philosopher in physical science. And in meta- 
physics and theology, his chief studies, he constantly shows 
the readiness of his mind to discover new analogies. Every 
one familiar with his works knows, that an irresistible wit is 
often mingled with his acutest arguments, especially in un- 
masking a sophism, and exposing its absurdities by analo- 
gous applications of the reasoning. Note, for example, his 
metaphysical portraiture of Mr. Chubb's idea of a free, 
voluntary action. " If some learned philosopher, in giving 
an account of the curious observations he had made in his 
travels, should say he had been in Terra del Fuego, and 



TO THE MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL. 353 

there seen a certain animal that begat and brought forth itself, 
and yet had a sire and dam distinct from itself ; that it had 
an appetite and was hungry, before it had a being ; that his 
master, who led him and governed him at pleasure, was 
always governed by him, and driven back by him where he 
pleased ; that when he moved, he always took a step before 
the first step ; that he went with his head first, and yet always 
went tail foremost, and this too though he had neither head 
nor tail ; it would be no impudence at all to tell such a trav- 
eler, that he himself had no idea of such an animal, and 
never had, nor ever w^ould have." Edwards is always care- 
less of style, and never employs his powers of imagination 
and illustration half as effectively as he might have done ; 
but what make* the case exactly in point for us is, that even 
the rigid metaphysical habits of Jonathan Edwards did not 
wither his fancy, did not absorb nor expel his sensibilities. 
Kor did they destroy the immediate efficiency of his preach- 
ing. Such was his reputation as a " powerful and successful 
preacher," that churches, both near and remote, invited him. 
to labor with them for short periods ; and these missionary 
tours, his biographer asserts, were connected with glorious 
results. Astonishingly did he enchain the souls of his 
hearers. Whole audiences were melted to tears. Sinners 
were caused to shake, and cry out with fear. When he was 
once preaching at EnfieL i, says Dr. Trumbull, " there was 
such a breathing of distress and weeping, that the preacher 
was obliged to speak to the people and desire silence." 

The illustrious Dr. Bellamy is another case in point. 
Surpassingly eminent, as he was, in the metaphysics of a 
stern theology, he has yet been justly cited as one particu- 
larly distinguished for that dramatic power in preaching, 
which evinces an imagination gifted, free, and plastic, — ■ 
which so happily elevates pulpit oratory, from dry discussion 
or simple narrative, into something of the force and sympa- 



354 THE VALUE OP MENTAL PHILOSOPHY 

tlietic sway of real life and action ; and wliich causes those 
very doctrines, that under the ministrations of some men 
seem but sterile abstractions, to penetrate the conscience 
and the heart as stirring and fructifying principles, awaking 
new thoughts, enkindling lively emotions, arousing high pur- 
poses, entering deeply into, and pervading and coloring the 
whole consciousness of the soul. The pulpit eloquence of 
the late Dr. Griffin was marked preeminently by boldness 
of conception, with high originality and force of imagination, 
irresistible pungency of appeal to the conscience, and tender 
addressing of the heart ; yet he was a most able theological 
reasoner, and, to say the least, a very respectable metaphysi- 
cian. But what makes this instance specially pertinent to 
our present argument, is the fact, that the. lofty daring of 
Griffin's imagination in the pulpit derived its chief power 
from a few fundamental things in his metaphysical views ; 
these views, strong and vivid, ever stimulated and controlled 
the inventions of his fancy ; and without such a basis, what 
was in him truly sacred and almost divine eloquence, would 
have been little more than high-sounding declamation. And 
universally it is best, as was the case with this " prince 
among preachers," that a deep and strong philosophy should 
furnish the trunk for supporting the lighter ornaments of the 
imagination, which then, like parasitic flowers, may 

* =^ ^ * "invest the branch, 
Else unadorned, with many a gay festoon 
And fragrant chaplot, recompensing well 
The strength they borrow with the grace they lend." 

Finally, the divine inspiration of the apostle Paul ought 
not to exclude the illustration furnished by his example. 
Where can we find a more profound or subtle reasoner on 
abtruse questions of theology and metaphysics ? In this re- 
spect, not a scribe or lawyer in all the Jewish hierarchy, 



TO THE MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL. 355 

not a master or disciple in all the Grecian schools, ever 
went beyond the young man who was brought up at the 
feet of Gamaliel. And yet what orator ever surpassed him 
in moving the minds of his hearers ? Follow him to the syn- 
agogues and other public assemblies, and observe with what 
skill and success he convinces both Jew and Gentile that 
Jesus is the Christ ; see him on the stairs of the Roman 
castle, holding in respectful silence a riotous populace, that 
just before he would have torn him in pieces ; hear him in 
his noble and fearless defence of himself before the govern- 
or Felix ; listen to the thrilling account of his conversion, 
by which he almost persuades king Agrippa to become a 
Christian ; stand with him on Mars hill, while he addresses 
the learned men of Athens, and reveals to them the glories 
of that unknown God whom they ignorantly worshiped ; — 
and say whether he ought not to be ranked among the great- 
est of orators ? And should you be asked to mention the 
three first of ancient times, M^ouldyou not, to the names of the 
Grecian thunderer against Philip, and the Roman denoun- 
cer of Catiline and Antony, add that of the converted Saul 
of Tarsus ? 

We cannot dismiss our subject, without adverting briefly 
to the value of mental philosophy to the minister, in his re- 
lations and duties as a pastor. In the pastoral intercourse, 
he comes in contact with every variety of character, and is 
required to act upon the mind in every condition of temper, 
susceptibility and tendency. There must be appropriate 
counsels for all the diversities among professors of relio-ion ; 
the lukewarm, the backsliding, the self-confident and pre- 
sumptuous, the fearful and desponding, the worldly, the 
spiritually-minded, the bigoted and censorious, the careless 
and fashionable, the self-deceived, the hypocrite, the apos- 
tate. There must be preparation for the still more numer- 
ous and diverse classes of the impenitent ; the thouo-htless 



356 THE valije of mental philosophy 

and stupid, tlie hardened, the dissolute, the sober, the seri- 
ous, the ignorant, the vain, the proud, the learned, the rich, 
the poor, the scoffer, the infidel. Time would fail to specify 
the varieties ; but the pastor needs a knowledge and skill 
suited to them all ; hence the universal remark, that a min- 
ister should understand human nature. He must become all 
things to all men, if by any means he may save some. He 
will want all the fabled wisdom of the serpent and the real 
harmlessness of the dove. 

Again, the pastor is obliged to visit these various classes 
at different times, in opposite worldly circumstances, in the 
hours of prosperity and adversity, in occasions of joy and of 
sorrow, at the wedding, at the social board, at the funeral. 
How obviously will he need the knowledge we speak of, to 
adapt his influence to these varying conditions, so that eve- 
ry pastoral act may '' suit the circumstance," and all his 
words, being fitly spoken, be as " apples of gold in pictures 
of silver." 

But it is especially in intercourse with the awakened sin- 
ner, or the professedly recent convert, that the pastor will 
need to understand the secrets of the human mind. Here 
the most momentous interests are put to an immediate stake ; 
everlasting consequences are suspended on a single mental 
act. Truly it is awful to consider, v/ith what infinite ease, 
almost, an awakened sinner m^j be put upon thoughts and 
feelings, which, although quick and evanescent as the light- 
ning's flash, do 3^et, in the brief, measureless instant of their 
existence, involve the whole question of that sinner's weal 
or wo for eternity. Jn one of these junctures, when all the 
interests of an endless duration are concentrated in a sinscle 
point of time, the sinner may yield his heart in sweet sub- 
mission to the authority of God, embrace the provisions of 
the gospel by an act of faith in Christ, and thus become an 
heir of grace and glory ; or he may persist in his rebellion, 



TO THE MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL. 357 

and thereb}^ lose liis last otFer of pardon, waste his last op- 
portifnity for reconciliation, and be sealed over as a reprobate 
to the day of perdition. How tremblingly solicitous is tlie 
man who intelligently watches for souls, when he finds a 
sinner standing in a crisis of such fearful import, poised as 
it were between heaven and hell ! Oppressed with a sense 
of his own impotence and ignorance, gladly would the hum- 
ble man of God shrink away from all action and all counsel 
amid hazards so perilous; but he cannot escape his high ob- 
ligations ; the awakened sinner will demand something. 
"What must I do ?" is his agonizing cry, and he will, as he 
has a right to do, pour it into the pastor's ear. Hov*^ much 
will then depend on the pastor's practical knowledge of 
gospel truth, in its bearings on the various attitudes and 
conditions of the mind ! Who can compute the evil, if in- 
stead of a discriminating and accurate knowledge, he have 
only a vain and deceitful philosophy, a science falsely so 
called ? What an undoing of tlie poor sinner would be like- 
ly to result, for example, if the pastor's words should in 
any way occasion or foster an idea, that the difficulty of the 
impenitent man consisted merely in his ignorance, or want 
of light, or Vv^ant of conviction ; or in his mistake as to the 
means of his own highest happiness ; or in any compulsive 
force of God's almighty government over him ; and not sim- 
ply and solely in the "carnal heart," which is enmity against 
God. 

Scarcely less momentous is right dealing with the sinner 
that is just beginning to entertain hope, While the pastor 
must not quench the smoking flax, nor despise the day of 
small things, nor forget that the kingdom of heaven in the 
heart is like the leaven, at first extremely little, perhaps, 
although afterwards diffused through the whole lump ; and, 
like the grain of Palestine mustard-seed, small, indeed, when 
sown, yet producing ultimately a tree with branches to lodge 

31 



358 THE VALUE OF MENTAL PHILOSOPKY 

the fowls of heaven, he must also bear in mind, that the heart 
of man is deceitful above all things ; that there are numer- 
ous forms of what our fathers used to call " false experien- 
ces," and " every grace hath its counterfeit;'' that there is a 
hope " like the spider's web," which " perisheth when God 
taketh away the soul ;" and the only hope, " which maketh 
not ashamed," or can ever prove " an anchor to the soul," is 
that which " worketh by love, and purifieth the heart." It 
is the pastor's business to see that the sinner do not delude 
himself with sparks of his own kindling, which may glitter 
for a time, and then go out in everlasting darkness. How, 
then, can the pastor dispense with a knowledge of the laby- 
rinthian windings of the heart ? 

His need of skill is increased by the melancholy, but indis- 
putable fact, of Satanic agency. That adversary, who, as a 
roaring lion, goeth about, seeking whom to devour, has power 
to change himself in appearance into an angel of light; and 
no contrivance to ensnare and destroy the souls of men does 
he seem to employ with more zeal and success, than that of 
quieting the alarm of the awakened sinner by the joys of a 
false hope. Could he always be sure of such a result, he 
would be forward, no doubt, to preach the terrors of the 
Lord, and goad the conscience of the sinner, and fill him 
with terrific apprehensions of the wrath to come, for the ve- 
ry purpose of soothing him at last with a spurious comfort, 
and a treacherous peace. Without much opposition from 
Satan, or the apostate spirits under him, may a man defend 
the truth of the gospel, profess an experience of religion, join 
the visible church, enter the ministerial office, and even go 
and preach the dying love of Jesus to the heathen, provided 
it be done with a deceived heart, that is still unregenerate, 
but walled around with the impenetrable adamant of a false 
hope. Such a ms^n's personal guilt would be awfully aggra- 
vated by a life of graceless formality amid all the highest 



TO THE MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL. 359 

and holiest privileges of religion ; and he vrould at last go 
down, from beneath the droppings of the sanctuary, and from 
the angelic repasts and blood-bought symbols of the commu- 
nion-table, to the gloomiest ceil, and keenest torments of the 
damned. Such a man's iiifiuence, also, might, in some res- 
pects, be the very best for sustaining Satan's devices. 
What fitter instruments for spreading and perpetuating his 
sway, could that "archangel ruined" desire, than such over- 
seers of the flock, and such laborers in the field, as would, 
by personal destitution of piety, by ignorance, or heedless- 
ness, or by an erroneous theology or philosophy, multiply 
spurious conversions, and foster deceitful hopes ? 

To these considerations, add the fact, that, in the experi- 
ences of true Christians, there are many unhappy mixtures 
of things not of heavenly origin, such as " natural afiections 
and passions ; impressions on the imagination ; self-right- 
eousness, or spiritual pride ;"-and, in some Christians, as 
Edwards justly remarks, " the mixture is so great, as very 
much to obscure and hide the beauty of grace in them, like 
a thick smoke, that hinders all the shining of the fire." 
What but a deep insight of the human soul can enable the 
pastor to try the spirits, to test these mixtures, to separate 
the gold from the dross. 

In short, no view can be taken of the pastor's work, which 
does not show the value to him of a correct philosophy of 
the human mind, drawn jointly and harmoniously from the 
Bible, and from the facts of life. 

But to recommend the study of the mind as of various 
service in the ministerial work, may seem superfluous toil, 
since, in fact, the whole of the ministerial work is but one 
continued study and experiment in that vast science. As 
interpreter, theologian, preacher, pastor, the minister's real 
dealing is with mind. His charge is high above what ancient 



3G0 THE VALUE OF MENTAL PHILOSOPHY 

poetry and mythology assigned to fabled gods. The guar- 
dian care of mountains and groves, the sea, the air, of a planet, 
or a sun, a city, a nation, a world, dwindles to the microsco- 
pic speck of dust in the comparison. He is to watch for 
souls ; his whole time, and toil, and talents are to be expen- 
ded in behalf of immortal minds. When he studies the 
Scriptures, it is but to learn momentous truths respecting 
created minds, the angelic and the human, their characters 
and principles, duties, dangers, and destiny ; and to learn 
truths more lofty respecting the Infinite mind, the immuta- 
ble attributes, eternal counsels, wonderful doings, glorious 
manifestations, righteous commands of that one mysterious 
Spirit, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. All else he does is 
but variously to apply these truths, as needful medicine, to 
heal the maladies of the human mind and heart, or as whole- 
some food, to nourish the soul in its growth for Paradise. 
Such is his work ; first his own mind, rv^Si OEmjrbv ; then 
the m Lid of man as such, the whole philosophy of intellect, 
heart, and will ; and above and beyond all this, the incom.- 
prehensible, uncreated Mind I How vast his field ! All 
the mysteries of the world of mind, that world for which the 
world of matter was made, matter being but the constituted 
servant of mind, and deriving all its beauty and magnificence 
from its relation to the perceiving, reasoning, and rejoicing 
soul, without which, as occupant and lord, the whole bright 
assemblage of material orbs would form only a vast and 
gloomy solitude ; the " moral world being the end of the 
natural ; the rest of the creation being but a house which 
God hath built, with furniture for moral agents." 

How awful, too, his responsibility ! The problem and 
experiment assigned to him, is to bring back to holy, 
happy communion with the infinite Mind that wandering 
human mind, which, while it strays off from Him, the 



TO THE MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL. 361 

central fount of life, and love^ and joy, does but plunge it- 
self, and drag down other minds, in deeper guilt and wo. 
Had some vast globe been loosed from its proper sphere, 
and hurled by some mighty, ever-growing impulse, along 
a wild, erratic course — to be sent out to check that wan- 
dering mass, and guide its mad momentum, and bring it 
round with no disturbance of other orbs, to take again its 
proper sphere and place, were no trifling errand even for 
an angel ; a fearful errand, too, it would be, if, by one 
mischance, by a single faulty or inadvertent touch, he 
might augment its fatal impulse to dash with greater fu- 
ry upon planets, suns, and stars, and carry confusion on, 
from system to system, through illimitable space. To an 
errand higher and more fearful, far, are they appointed, 
who are commissioned as ambassadors of Christ ; sent out 
to call back, not some wandering mass of clay, or globe of 
light, but an erring soul, that shall live in ecstacies or in 
agonies, when existing suns and systems may be~all extinct ; 
and such are the mysteries of that soul in its emnity to God 
and holiness, that one slight mistake in their attempt to 
reconcile it, the error of a word, a gesture or a look, may 
be the very impulse to put it upon a more impious career 
of rebellion, and give it a more dreadful power to spread 
pollution and ruin from mind to mind, in an ever-widening 
circle. But there is a glorious hope along with this appall- 
ing hazard ; a look, a gesture, a word, through God's assist- 
ing grace rightly employed, and by God's sovereign power 
efiicaciously applied, may be the very means to put that 
soul upon an upward flight towards the seat of truth and love, 
and may thus commence a series of wonderful influences 
upon other minds, to spread out, in sphere upon sphere, over 
a wider and wider compass, for successive ages, and gather 
host after host of new-born spirits around the throne of God 
and the Lamb. 

31* 



:iifi^ 



3G2 THE VALUE OF MENTAL PHILOSOPHY. 

May the Holy Spirit gird multitudes of our sons for this 
high and holy work ; make them joyful, faithful and success- 
ful in it ; and prepare them to share, in the issue, its illustri- 
ous rewards along with " prophets and apostles," and the 
" great company of the priests," 



THE UNITY OF HISTORY AND 

PROVIDENCE. ■ 

A LECTURE. 

Not merely of the intelligent Christian, but of every 
truly liberal and elevated mind, is it a characteristic to take 
pleasure in contemplating the designs of wisdom manifested 
in the works and the providence of God. In what are or- 
dinarily called the " works of nature," such designs every 
where meet the observer. Although the ignorant savage 
will fail to notice many that awaken our admiration and 
gratitude, yet even the most uncultivated mind must recog- 
nize, amid the ceaseless variations of outward things and all 
their seeming confusion and inconsistencies, a most striking 
manifestation of wise and benevolent design. From the 
earliest times, it has been a favorite study of wise and good 
men, to investigate these exhibitions of the power and skill 
of the divine architect. The Psalms of David evince that 
the "sweet singer of Israel" was no stranger to these 
-'' manifold works," in which may be read so plainly the 
truth, that " the whole earth is full of the goodness of the 
Lord." The fragmentary memoirs we have of the Grecian 
Socrates, show us that the best philosopher of the classic 
ages, noticed with deep interest the marks of forethought 



364 THE UNITY OF HISTORY AND PROVIDENCE. 

and wisdom evidently imprinted on the objects of nature 
around him, and especially seen in the wonderful and fear- 
ful structure of the human frame. In modern times, studies 
of this kind have been carried to a far greater extent and 
minuteness ; and so the greatest progress of natural science, 
in its now so numerous branches, has only brought out into 
clearer and fuller light the grand and interesting fact, that 
one uniform design pervades and- controls the whole domain 
of nature. Under this supreme design, every element is 
adjusted in appropriate relations to every other ; every 
part of the system is fitted purposely to its kindred parts ; 
the laws of inanimate matter are imposed in subserviency 
to those higher laws that are given to vegetable and animal 
life ; while vegetable and animal life, in its perpetually va- 
rying forms, is every where impressed with tendencies and 
instincts adapted both to the general laws of matter and to 
its own local and peculiar conditions. Thus there is a most 
wonderful unity anel harmony in all the vast diversity of 
nature ; it is delightful to think of it ; especially to think of 
it as proving, as it does with irresistible moral evidence, 
that one Infinite Mind is the maker and sustainer of all ; 
and to think of it, (and the facts certainly do fully authorize 
us to think of it), as showing the benevolent regards of that 
Infinite Mind towards the creature man, to whom this whole 
system of nature is subjected in an everlasting and untiring 
ministry to supply his wants and promote his happiness. 

Such is the consistent beauty and sweet harmony in the 
natural world. But how is it in the moral ? What is the 
picture presented to the eje, when we turn to contemplate 
the history of man ? Whore is the harmony, the consistency, 
the unity, the one all-pervading and all-directing design and 
plan ? 

Even to the learned scholar, the history of man often 
seems little else than one wearisome tale of selfish struggles 



THE UNITY OF HISTORY AND PROVIDENCE. 365 

between different degrees of strength and cunning arranged 
on opposite sides, or at least between truth and virtue on the 
one hand, and might and skill and selfishness arranged on the 
other. Go back to patriarchal and even antediluvian ages, 
and float down thence with the stream of time, and w^hat 
sight is so frequently before you in all your voyage as that of 
garments rolled in blood ? What sounds so often reach your 
ears as the " confused noise of the warrior," and the cries 
of the wounded and the dying on the field of battle, or the 
wailings of widows and orphans mingling with the proud 
songs of victory ? The first-born of woman murdered his 
only brother in the demon-spirit of envy ; and now, after 
men have looked upon all the peaceful beauties of nature 
and heard all her thousand voices of harmony for more than 
six thousand years, even now, the two best nations on the 
globe, those two related to each other as mother and daugh- 
ter, both of them Christian and Protestant, both of them 
boasting of piety and philanthrophy as their chief glory, 
these tv;o nations now stand in attitude almost of mutual 
defiance, both grumbling out rumors of war, and sounding 
their notes of preparation for the deadly combat — each 
ready, it would seem, to sacrifice thousands of human lives 
and waste millions of property in a foolish strife for a strip 
of land, to which the mother at least has not the slightest 
defensible claim, and for which the daughter, whatever may 
be her title, has very little reason to feel any want in the 
magnitude and plenitude of her present possessions. Such 
from the beginning to the present moment has been the 
a.^pect of contradiction and confusion and disorder in the 
affairs of earth. 

The individual man performs a brief and noisy part for a 
few days, and then is no more ; he lies down forgotten, 

" A stone his pillow — the turf his bed " 



366 THE UNITY OF HISTORY AND PROVIDENCE. 

Nation after nation dies off; empires and states arise, strug- 
gle, clasli, conquer, — are conquered, and disappear. 
But 

" Is such the moral of human life 1 
Are such the issues of glory's reign 1 
Have oceans of blood and an age of strife 
And a thousand battles been all in vain V 

Must there not be something below the surface ? some 
deeper moral — some higher issue ? Those very events 
which are the doings of man, who thus perpetually walketh 
in vain show, are they not also the workings of Providence? 
No finite intellect is competent to decide before-hand, that 
the various changes in human society could not enter as 
parts into a vast system of providential arrangements ex- 
pressly designed for one grand result, nor to decide before- 
hand, that they have not been actually steps in a series of 
events leading on in regular progress towards an intended 
issue. Our entire inability to see any such tendency in the 
course of things, and our utter failure to discover a connec- 
tion in a single case between an occurring event and such 
an ultimate design, would not furnish the least degree of 
positive evidence against the reality. There might be such 
a design, a system all arranged in perfect subserviency to it, 
a constant tendency towards the end as the system went on 
unfolding itself, and an important and vital connection be- 
tween each event and the final issue, although the highest 
mortal genius should never know it. There are, doubtless, 
secrets of nature^ v/hich neither the philosophers of the 
Baconian school, nor a,ny other philosophers have yet com- 
pelled her to disclose ; what man or creature shall presume 
to say, that he has seen that point in the line of infinite du- 
ration, where the whole course of nature, having completed 
its vast circle of developments, has come back into itself 



THE UNITY OF HISTORY AND PROVIDENCE. S67 

again, so tliat lie who knows all that she has then revealed, 
knows therefore all the truth that is lodged in her capacious 
bosom ? There are, it cannot be doubted secrets of Provi- 
dence in a similar sense in which there are secrets of na- 
ture ; and who is competent to saj that all these secrets have 
been unfolded to him ? Should any one come forward 
claiming to have obtained the prerogative of lifting up the 
impenetrable veil, with whom could he find any credit ? 

I freely concede, however, that if there exists some grand 
pervading design, in subordination to which all the changes 
of human society are overruled, we might expect to find 
traces of it in the events themselves, and now and then at 
least to see the bearing of different parts in relation to the 
intended result. That there is such a design, and that such 
traces and bearings are noticeable, is what I propose to evince. 
To demand that we should show them in every event, 
and in the minute details even of national history would be 
to impose on finite minds the task suited only to Omnis- 
cience. If we can see them in the grand transactions of 
successive ages, it is sufficient for our argument. The law 
that regulates the greater doubtless applies to the smaller, al- 
though the agency may escape our observation and even defy 
our scrutiny. The laws of gravitation, of projectile forces, 
and friction or resistance, control the dice of the gammon- 
board as truly and exactly as they do the mighty orbs of 
the firmament. 

What then is the all-pervading design ? Probably mere 
human science and philosophy might never have discovered 
what it is. But I think that God has expressly declared it. 
The grand ultimate design is to establish the spiritual do- 
minion of Christ as holding a rightful supremacy over all 
human authority. " The kingdom and dominion, and the 
greatness of the kingdom under the whole heaven shall be 
given to the people of the saints of the Most High, whose 



368 THE UNITY OF HISTORY AND PEOVIDENCE. 

kinordom is an everlastino; kinordom, and all dominions shall 
serve and obey him." Dan. 7 : 27- " Thou art my son ; — 
ask of me, and I shall give thee the heathen for thine inheri- 
tance and the uttermost parts of the earth for thy possess- 
ion." Ps. 2 : 7, 8. " The kingdoms of this world are be- 
come the kingdoms of our Lord and of his Christ, and he 
shall reign forever." Rev. 11 : 15. 

Sach is the declared design : and have the great changes 
in men's affairs, the rise and fall of states and empires, the 
wars and battles and sieges, the victories and defeats, the 
march of armies and the capture of pHnces, conquests, reforms 
and revolutions, all taken place in a purposed relation to 
this one design ? Can we trace one connecting thread run- 
nino; as it were throu":h them all, and so formino; what I have 
called the unity of history and providence 2^ 

Let us look at some of the principal political changes of 
ancient times. 

Nearly two thousand years before Christ, the patriarch 
Abraham was selected to be the father of a peculiar people. 
At that time, the whole human race, it would seem, had be- 
come alienated from the love and knowledge of the true 
God, and were sunk in gross idolatry. In the posterity of 
Abraham a new and separate nation was created by God, 
and the object intended was to prepare the way for the com- 
ing of Christ ; hence, as Paul states in one of his epistles, 
" to the Israelites were vouchsafed the adoption, and the 
glory, and the covenants, and the giving of the law, and the 
ritual, and the promise, and of them, so far as respects his 
flesh, Christ came, who is over all, God blessed forever." 
The most careless reader of the history must see, that the 
rise, formation and preservation of the Israelites, the most 
remarkable nation that has ever existed, was essentially 
connected with the introduction and establishment of Christ's 
spiritual dominion. 



THE UNITY OF HISTORY AND PROYIDENCE. 369 

Among the very few fragments of authentic Egyptian 
history, is a notice of a very wonderful civil revolution, 
Joseph, the son of Jacob was carried- into Egypt and sold acs 
a slave, and was raised from that condition to the office of 
prime minister to the Egyptian king. In this office, taking 
advantage of a season of famine succeeding a season of plen- 
ty, Joseph effected a complete change in the tenure of land 
throughout the country, so that the right of soil was wholly 
taken from the people and vested in the king and the priests ; 
a change which modified the character and condition of that 
nation, during its v^^hole subsequent existence. But all this 
was ultimately and essentially connected with the formation 
and growth of the Israelitish nation, that community in which 
God was creating a peculiar people with special ultimate 
reference to the mission of Christ. For it was this change 
in the affairs of Egypt which furnished the family of Jacob, 
the three score and ten famishing fugitives from Canaan, 
with their asylum in the land of Goshen, until they were en- 
larged into a numerous multitude and prepared to go forth 
under the guidance of Moses, and take possession of the 
promised land. 

Contemplate next the overthrow and expulsion of the 
Canaanites. Their land was desolated during a protracted 
war of several years, in which their principal cities were as- 
sailed and taken by storm, siege or stratagem, and above 
thirty kings were conquered and dethroned, and hundreds 
of thousands of lives were lost^ Yet it was only by this 
fearful extermination of many tribes, ^nd the reduction of 
others to inglorious servitude, that the descendants of Abra- 
ham were admitted to the land, where the true church was 
first planted, and where so many transactions were to take 
place preparatory to the Redeemer's kingdom. 

Again, consider the subjugation of the Israelites by the 

Assyrian kings, and the seventy years captivity at Babylon ; 

3'Z 



870 THE tJNITY OF HISTORY AISD PROVIDENCE. 

which may, at first view, seem to have been little cal- 
culated to advance the great design, and yet were in fact 
eminently subservient to it. Besides other good effects, they 
exerted a vast influence in promoting spiritual piety in the 
hearts of those who relied on the promise of a future Messiah, 
and in raising a generation of men properly fitted to take 
part in the great work to be accomplished under those en- 
terprising leaders, Ezra and ISTehemiah. In regard to tlais 
captivity, the agency of God is recognized at almost every 
step from the first thought of conquest in the heart of Neb- 
uchadnezzar, to the remarkable proclamation of Cyrus 
allowing the captives to take down their harps from the wil- 
lows and return to their beloved mount Zion, Nor should 
we forget, that it was daring this captivity, that the haughti- 
est monarch that had occupied the throne of Babylon, suf- 
fered that terrible infliction in being driven forth as a wild 
maniac " from among- men" to have " his dwelling with the 
beasts of the field," until he was ready to acknowledge that 
" the Most High ruleth in the kingdom of men, and giveth 
it to whomsoever he will." What an affecting testimony in 
favor of true religion, and manifestly subservient to Christ's 
spiritual dominion, was then given before the whole Assyr- 
ian Empire ! The Israelites, that chosen people of God 
among whom Christ was to be born, were now there, a band 
of destitute and feeble captives ; and yet their proud con- 
queror is thus miraculously forced to come forward with 
that most wonderful of royal manifestoes ; in which he ac- 
knowledges his pride and its terrible punishment, adding, 
" Now I Nebuchadnezzar, praise and exalt and honor the 
King of Heaven, all whose works are truth and his ways 
judgment ; and those that walk in pride he is able to abase ;" 
and he doeth according to his will in the army of heaven 
and among the inhabitants of the earth ; and none can stay 
his hand or say unto him, " what doest thou ?" 

The restoration of the Jews, their return to Jerusalem, 



THE UNITY OF HISTORY AND PEOVIDENCE. 371 

and the rebuilding of the Temple had a most manifest and 
direct connection with the advancement of the true Church. 
But these events were brought about by means of some ve- 
ry remarkable political changes and memorable battles. 
The proud empire of Babylon was to be overthrown and 
the great city captured, before the Jews would be liberated. 
For this purpose, Cyrus the great was raised up as predic- 
ted by Isaiah in a most remarkable prophecy; "Thus saith 
the Lord to his anointed, to Cyrus, whose right hand I 
have holden to subdue nations before him ; and I will loose 
the loins of kings to open before him the two-leaved gates, 
and the gates shall not be shut ; I will go before thee and 
make the crooked places straight; I will break in pieces 
the gates of brass and cut in sunder the bars of iron ; I will 
give thee the treasures of darkness and hidden riches of se- 
cret places, that thou raayest know that I the Lord, who 
call thee by name, am the God of Israel." Is. 14: 1 — -3. 
Nearly two hundred years after this prediction, the Cyrus 
thus foretold by name, was placed at the head of a joint ar- 
my of the Medes and Persians, an event connected with im- 
portant civil changes in their country ; soon he marched to- 
wards Babylon, the mighty city on the Euphrates, surroun- 
ded by its lofty walls, with the two -leaved gates of brass 
strengthened by the ponderous bars of iron. Croesus the 
rich and powerful king of Lydia, whose name has become 
proverbial for wealth, was moving with a large army to de- 
fend Babylon, having entered into alliance with the Assyr- 
ian monarch^ Cyrus meets the Lydian king, not far from 
the splendid palace of the latter, and utterly defeats him in 
thv^ famous battle of Thymbra, where the victorious army 
consisted of nearly two hundred thousand men, and the con- 
quered, of more than four hundred thousand. Cyrus then 
proceeds to the Euphrates, and lays siege to Babylon ; and 
on the fatal night, when the impious Belshazzar was carous- 
ing with his thousand lords and preparing the holy vessels 



372 THE UNITY OF HISTORY AND PROVIDENCE. 

of Jehovah's sanctuary, and that mysterious handwriting ap- 
peared on the wall, the conqueror entered the city, and the 
glory of Babylon was ended. All this long and complicated 
train of things was in order that the Jews might return and 
rebuild their temple and prepare for the coming of the Mes- 
siah. Who that has ever read the hiatory of these events 
can doubt that the spiritual agency and counsel of God di- 
rected the ambition of Cyrus, the vanity of Croesus, and the 
impious luxury of Belshazzar, so as to advance the true re- 
ligion, and open the way for introducing into the world the 
Christian dispensation ? 

Let us now drop further down the current of time. 

History scarcely tells us of more memorable revolutions, 
than those wrought by the conquests of Alexander. And 
it is easy to see how they contributed in an eminent degree 
towards establishing the kingdom of Christ in the world. 
For by those conquests, the Greek language was extended 
over the land of Palestine, and various countries of Asia 
and Africa, and soon became the common language of lite- 
rature and science in the East as w^ell as in the most refined 
nations of the West. Hence it was that the history of Christ 
and bis disciples, and the letters of the Apostles, constituting 
the New Testament, were composed in a language, which 
was extensively used by the common people, and at the 
same time universally admired by scholars and philosophers, 
two advantages "which at that time belonged to no other lan- 
guage. 

Next comes into v-ew the colossal pcvrer of JRome, w-hich 
grew up by a Jong succession of civil commotions and for- 
eign wars. Battles were fought by sea nnd land, cities were 
besieged and sacked, provinces were laid desolate, kings 
were hurled from their thrones and led captive in chains, 
before the city of the seven hills became mistress of the 
world. But the existence of the Roman Empire, at the 
time of Christ's coming, is admitted by a'l to have been es- 



THE UNITY OF HISTORY AND PROYIDENCE. 37 3 

ceedinglj favorable to the establisliraent and extension of 
his religion ; the whole civilized world was thereby united 
under one government ; this was a very prominent circum- 
stance in that state of the world at the time of Christ's ap- 
pearance on earth which constituted its preparedness for 
his coming, and wdiich is beautifully termed in the Bible 
" the fulness of times"; and the whole seems to have been 
designedly arranged for the very purpose of giving efficien- 
cy and scope in the spread of the gospel. 

The final destruction of Jerusalem and dispersion of the 
Jews, which was attended with wars, civil broils, sieges and 
famines, creating a complicated tissue of most abominable 
crimes and indescribable miseries, must not be overlooked 
in the chain of events helping forward the Messiah's ulti- 
mate reign, 

" Lost Salem of the Jews — great sepulchre 
Of all profane and of all holy things ! 
Where Jew and Turk and Gentile yet concur 
To make thee what thou art ! thy history brings 
Thoughts mix'd with joy and wo. The whole earth rings 
With the sad truth which He prophesied 
Who would have sheltered with his holy wings 
Thee and thy children. You his power defied : 
You scourg'd him while he lived, and raock'd him as he died." 

The striking fulfilment of Christ's predictions, seen in the 
ruin of Jerusalem and her gorgeous temple overturned so 
that not one stone remained standing upon another, and the 
vengeance of heaven therein displayed, presented to all ob- 
servers of that age, and still present, an invincible argument 
for the divine origin of Christianity ; especially when taken 
in connection with that most singular fact, a fact predicted 
by Moses more than three thousand years ago, and a fact 
yet wholly without a parallel in the history of the world — ■ 
vi25. that the descendants of the Jews, although scattered 

32^ 



374 THE UNITY OF HISTORY AND PROVIDENCE. 

abroad among all the Dations and every where treated with 
contempt and contumely, have maintained to the present day 
the ancient Jewish peculiarities. The relation there is be- 
tween this wonderful dispersion of the Jews and the advance- 
ment of the spiritual dominion of Christ, will be more fully 
seen, if the Jews shall hereafter be gathered together and es- 
tablished in the land of their fathers, as many interpreters 
of prophecy confidently expect. 

But to proceed with our glance. 

The wars and revolutions, which brought Constantinethe 
Great to the throne of the Roman Empire, are very promi- 
nent in its history. What event ever happened more inti- 
mately connected with the advancement of Christianity, than 
the investiture of Constantine with the imperial purple ? 
Christianity was thereby at once established in the two 
greatest cities of the world, Rome and Constantinople, and in 
consequence of this, it soon triumphed over Paganism, 
throughout the empire. 

So important was this bearing of the reign of Constantine, 
that I find nothing irrational in the belief that there wiis a 
special providence in his conversion ; nor does the literal 
story of his vision of the sign of the cross with the famous 
motto afterwards borne on the banner of his armies, appear 
to me incredible. There is nothing in the tale more mar- 
vellous than in the incidents connected with the conversion 
of the brave Col. Gardiner. In reference to both cases, 
however, and others like them, I cannot forbear to remark 
here, that it is perfectly easy to explain them, without sup- 
posing any miracle, or even any actual visible appearance ; 
since it is a well known fact, that in a state of high excite- 
ment, the mere conceptions and imaginations of the mind 
itself are very often taken for actual outward realities. 

That the reign of Constantine exerted upon Christianity in- 
jurious influences as well as favorable, is admitted; nor will 
I deny what is commonly affirmed, that it contributed some- 



THE UNITY OF HISTORY AKD PROYIDENCE. 375 

wLat to tliat gradual nsiirpation of power and authority, by 
the Christian priesthood which led to that final establishment 
of the Bishop of Rome in his pretended claim to be the suc- 
cessor of St. Peter, and supreme head of the church on earth. 

This impious usurpation, with its whole disgusting history 
of imposture, craft, licentiousness, and persecution, and all 
its foolery and mummery, and its bigotry and cruelty and 
blasphemy, is itself, although truly a mystery of iniquity, 
as well as a mystery of Providence, nevertheless a grand 
event or combination of events manifestly contributing to 
that ultimate spiritual dominion of Christ, with all the pure 
and heavenly characteristics of which, its own unchanging 
features still as ever stand out in bare-faced opposition and 
loathsome contrast; could we discover no other point of 
bearing, this one were perhaps enough, that the " revelation 
of the man of sin " has so fully shown, (more fully than 
perhaps it could in any other w^ay be shown), that truth — ■ 
most fundamental in the gospel, yet most difficult to impress 
on the human mind — viz., that the hingdom of Christ is not 
of this ivorld, that all its w^eapons and all its peculiar bless- 
ings are not carnal but spiritual. 

But we must hasten on with our glance. 

In the lapse of a few centuries the Roman Empire melted 
away, and the northern barbarians settled upon its fairest 
provinces. 

" Across the everlasting Alp 
I pourVi the torrent of my powers, 
And feeble Csesais shriek'd for help 
In vain within their seven-hill'd lowers; 
I quench'd in blood the brightest gem 
That glitter'd in their diadem, 
And struck a darker, deeper dye 
In the purple of their mystery ; 
And bade my northern banners shine 
Upon the conquer'd Palatine." 



376 THE UNITY OF HISTORY AND PROVIDENCE. 

— Bnt " Alarlc and his hosts," and the tribes of the north, 
came thus to the south, to be christianized — to swell the 
number of converts to the church, and thus extend her sway. 
Soon Charlemagne attempted to revive the existence of a 
universal dominion, like that of Rome ; in pursuing his vain 
project, he employed means not at all consonant with the 
spirit of the gospel; yet by those very means, under the 
overruling hand of God, he actually planted Christianity in 
the north and west of Europe, where its general sway and 
benign influences have continued from that time to the 
present. 

After some hundred years, the bloody Turks seized upon 
Constantinople, and the cross was compelled to give place 
to the crescent, after a memorable siege and a hard-fought 
battle. Even this event, which filled thousands with alarm 
at the progress of Mahommedan delusion, this too accom- 
plished its part in the great work of conquering the nations 
for Christ. The impostures of the beast of Rome had now 
spread over the Christian world ; darkness and superstition 
and corruption had fastened and was brooding, like a terri- 
ble incubus, upon the whole church. Nearly all the men of 
cultivation or learning were residing in the single city of 
Constantinople, while general ignorance prevailed in the 
whole of western Europe. When these men saw the capi- 
tal of the first Christian Emperor prostrate before the Turk, 
and the minaret of the false prophet rising, as if in proud 
defiance, above every Christian temple, they fled thence to 
Italy, France, and Germany. By their influence letters 
w^ere revived, the public mind became enlightened ; and 
thus the foundations were laid for the Reformation com- 
menced by the immortal Luther ; and what has not that glo- 
rious Reformation done for the advancement of pure religion 
and for bringing on the reign of the Messiah ? 

Turning now to the history of England, the thoughtful 
reader may find that the most remarkable of her political 



THE UNITY OF HISTORY AND FROVIDENCE. 377 

changes have had an important bearing on the same great 
issue. Look for instance, at the melancholy commotions 
connected with the temporary abolition of regal power, and 
the government of Cromwell ; in an eminent degree they 
contributed to develop before the world correct sentiments 
respecting the rights and duties and the power also of 
Christians, and to prepare them for prompt and decided ac- 
tion in defence of civil and religious liberty. 

Again, it was a celebrated revolution which in the year 
1688 brought William and Mary to the throne; that has 
exerted an immense influence on the destinies of the church ; 
it fixed the Protestant faith on an immutable basis in Eng- 
land, and secured its extension wherever the English power 
may hold swa}'. 

Perhaps no change in the history of the world has in- 
volved more stupeiidous consequences than that which re- 
sulted in the independence of the United States ; none of 
these consequences are so important as the vastly increased 
capability, energy, and activity which it has imparted to the 
Christian church. Who can foretell how much independent 
America may do to establish the kingdom of Him, whose 
right it is to reign ? 

The excellent John Newton in the year 1775, made the 
following observation : " I do not doubt that some who are 
yet unborn will hereafter see and remark, that the present 
unhappy disputes between Great Britain and America, and 
their consequences, whatever they may be^ are a part of a 
series of events of which the extension and the interests of 
the church of Christ were the principal and the final 
causes." President Edwards, even while this country 
was in a state of colonial dependence on England, expressed 
some remarkable anticipations of its future subserviency in 
diffusing true religion. " The other continent," said he, 
" hath slain Christ and hath from a^-e to a<>-e shed the blood 
of the saints ; God has therefore probably reserved to the 



378 THE UNITY OF HISTORY AND PROVIDENCE. 

daughter the honor of building the glorious temple, when 
the times of the peace and prosperity and glory of the 
church shall commence," and "it is probable that the most 
glorious renovation of the world shall originate from the 
new continent." Were these far-sighted men now alive, 
wouid they not find their predictions already in part veri- 
fied ? The independence of the United States has given an 
almost unbounded influence to the American people, to their 
example, their opinions, their diplomacy, their press, their 
arms and their commerce And had this country done 
nothing more, there are two particulars in which she has 
given an impulse that is accelerating Christ's universal reign 
with a mighty force, I refer to the missionary enterprise and 
the temperance reformation, in both of which the American 
people hold an honorable pre-eminence. Whatever, there- 
fore, may be the future as to this country, whether she shall 
hold on her way shining more and more brightly ever in the 
light of a pure Christian civilization, or shall at length add 
another name to the list of mighty nations ruined — I main- 
tain that the Revolution, to which we all look back as the 
period of martial glory and heroism sacrifice and achievement, 
was an event highly subservient to God's grand design of 
filling the earth with the praises of his Son. 

Just at the time when the promotion of this design re- 
quired that England should lose her sway on our side of the 
Atlantic, the same cause was most signally advanced by her 
making gigantic conquests in Asia. There she now rules 
over provinces and kingdoms, and thus creates the most de- 
sirable facilities for extending the gospel by missionary and 
other benevolent efforts ; facilities, which so far as we now 
see, could not have been secured in any other way. 

The history of France also contributes its share to illus- 
trate and confirm our argument. I do not hesitate to advert 
here even to the terrible career of the Great Destroyer, and 
those bloody revolutions which preceded and accompanied 



THE UNITY OF HISTORY AND PROVIDENCE. 379 

it. Most surely we must read in them the judgments of 
God upon a nation rejecting his word and insulting his 
Spirit. The most detestable hypocrisy was there wedded to 
the most reckless infidelity, and the legitimate oifspring was 
blasphemous impiety and flagitious crime. Can a nation 
thus openly putting at defiance every thing s^icred, be per- 
mitted to triumph in its ungodliness? It pleased the Almigh- 
ty Sovereign to give her to drink of the cup of his red in- 
dignation ; in the depth of her madness she drank to the 
very dregs ; and her perilous convulsions present still, like 
the midnight eruptions of the fiery volcano, a beacon of 
blazing brightness, warning the nations not to trample on 
the laws of Him who sitteth on the circle of the heavens, 
and before him " the inhabitants of the earth are as the grass- 
hoppers." 

There is another interesting view of the same events ; by 
the changes connected with the French revolution at the 
close of the last century, the papal power, so antichristian in 
its character, so hostile for ages to the genuine gospel, re- 
ceived a shock from which it can never recover. 

In the beginning of the sixteenth century, a poor, emaci- 
ated, solitary monk, from his cloister in Wittemburg, had 
proclaimed afresh to the world that fundamental doctrine of 
the gospel, the free salvation of sinners, through the blood 
of Christ. Nothing could be more offensive to the splendid 
and powerful hierarchy of Rome, then carrying on an un- 
godly merchandize in souls viler than the traffic in human 
blood. Urged on by a host of mercenary and angry priests, 
the illustrious Leo X, claiming as the Pope to be Head of 
the Universal Church and God's vice-gerent on earth, issued 
about the middle of June 1520, his famous bull against 
Martin Luther. On the tenth of December following, at 
nine o'clock in the morning, a fire was seen flaming up by 
the east gate of Wittemburg ; there moved towards it a 



SSO THE UNITY OF HTSTORY AND PROVIDENCE. 

procession of doctors and students headed by the undaunted 
Luther. Holding up the Papal Bull, which condemned him 
as a heretic, and exclaiming, " may fire unquenchable con- 
sume thee," he tossed the document into the flames. From 
that moment, the thunders of Rome lost their terror ; by 
that one act of the Saxon Monk was the Pope stripped of 
half his ecclesiastical authority. But to prostrate his secu- 
lar power was reserved for a great military chieftain, that 
" hero of a hundred battles," whose ambition grasped at the 
world for an empire, but only conducted him through a 
mighty game of crowns and kingdoms to the grave of a 
lonely exile on a little rock in the Atlantic. When revolu- 
tionary France sent her young general over the Alps, and 
he, already the conqueror of five Austrian armies, was 
marching in triumph down the plains of Italy, the occupant 
of the papal throne roused a,gainst him the last energies of 
the kingdom of Rome, gathering sixteen millions of tribute 
money and raising an army of forty thousand soldiers, with 
a host of monks and priests to bear the crucifix in the mar- 
tial ranks ; and thus he ventured, trusting perhaps in the 
protection of St. Peter and the virgin Mary, to oppose that 
commander who had but recently crossed the bridge of 
Lodi. It was a vain confidence ; Sextus was obliged to cast 
himself upon the mercy of Napoleon ; and from that day, 
the Pope has held his temporalities by mere permission 
from Powers, over which the Master of the Keys once sway- 
ed a despotic authority ; and vv^lien in 1804 France, after 
having so impiously blasphemed God, and moistened all her 
Boil with blood of her own citizens in a frantic rage against 
•tyrants, at last agreed, with but one dissenting voice, to 
make an Emperor of Bonaparte, then Pius VI, although 
Etill holding, like the haughty Pontiffs before him, the lofty 
title of Vicar of Christ, was compelled to travel over the 
mountains to Paris and there bless the crown that was to 



THE UNITY OF HISTORY AND PROVIDENCE. 381 

adorn the brow of the very man who had plundered the 
Vatican. 

"We may not turn from the history of France, without 
noticing' her last considerable political change, that strange 
three days revolution in 1830. Far be it from me to eulo- 
gize the government established when Louis Fhilippe came 
to the throne ; whatever partiality toward him might be 
awakened by the circumstance that the almost idolized 
La Fayette was in that instance emphatically the king- 
maker, is more than lost, — it is turned into coldness and 
even disgust, when we see the very king who v/as thus 
made, treating with slight the man to whom he was so 
much indebted, and sending into retirement the purest pa- 
triot in the nation. But it should be remembered that that 
revolution of 1830 brought into the high councils of France, 
even into the royal cabinet, a singular degree of Protestant 
influence ; — such perhaps, as had never been felt after the 
time when Louis XIV, by an act of Aveak and wicked poli- 
cy revoked that edict of Nantz which, for nearly a century 
previous, had secured the Protestants in their liberty and 
rights. It has been affirmed as matter of fact, that under 
the reign of Philippe, evangelical religion has revived, and 
it has recently received such an impulse that, unless the 
Komanists can rouse political jealousies in the rulers to 
counteract the tendency, Christianity, we may hope, will 
soon obtain joyful triumphs in that land once so noted for 
its infidelity, blasphemy and atheism. 

Even in the political history of the Ottoman Turks, the 
nation which from its first existence has offered the bitterest 
and the most successful opposition to Christianity, we shall 
find confirmation of the argument we are :racing. Born in 
the wilds of Scythia, nursed on the rocks of Imaus, taught 
to live by violence and plunder, the Turcoman with a sav- 
age strength and a brutal spirit tracked a pathway in blood 

33 



382 THE UNITY OF HISTORY AND FKOYIDENCE. 

from Ms native deserts in upper Asia to the banks of the 
Euphrates ; thence spread his black desolations upon the 
Holy Land ; swept over the rich fields of Asia Minor ; 
crossed the classic Hellespont, and finally entered in tri- 
umph the city that perpetuates the name of Constantine. 
But this very movement, comprehending under it the most 
horrid details of war and carnage, was, as I have already 
noticed in glancing at the history of Rome, an important 
element among the causes which awoke Europe from the 
torpor of the dark ages, and ushered in the glorious morn- 
ing of the Reformation. 

One of the blackest pages, even in the history of the 
Turks, is that which records their barbarities in the modern 
Greek revolution. During nearly four centuries, the de- 
scendants of the proudest republicans of antiquity had 
groaned under the yoke of an iron despotism ; but they 
resolved to break from their bondage, and in 1821 suddenly 
rose upon their oppressors : by the struggles, perils and 
sacrifices of a war of eight years, they accomplished their 
independence. Thus Greece, although obliged to compro- 
mise her old love of democracy in order to propitiate the 
existing governments of Europe, and compelled to receive 
her chief magistrate from foreign hands and under the title 
of king, nevertheless regained her political existence ; here- 
by has been opened a new field for the exertions of philan- 
thropy and for the triumphs of religion. Literature and 
science, so long excluded, begin now again to illumine that 
land of ancient bards and philosophers, not with the dim 
twilight of her old paganism, but with the bright effulgence 
of Christian truth. In this restoration of a hio:h-minded 
and inventive people, we cannot but see an event favorable 
to the progress of general civilization ; much indeed may 
we regret that they were not permitted to realize their hope 
of establishing a republic — that they were forced to accept 



THE UNITY OP HISTORY AND PROYIDENGE. 383 

a foreigner for their king, and that so much of disajcer has 
befallen them since — but we cannot doubt that the continued 
self-government of the Greeks will develope many causes 
to promote the spread of the true gospel in the East, the 
energies of the Greek church being revived and her faith 
and practice purified. At this very moment (Nov. 1845), 
some of these influences are operating. Whatever may be 
the immediate issue of the recent onset made by the priests 
on the American missionary (Dr. King), at Athens, it has 
awakened a controversy which cannot but diffuse light in 
that country and do it in a far higher degree in consequence 
of the existing constitution and government ; it has given 
the American Protestant an opportunity of showing to all 
the people, both chieftains and peasants, that the most emi» 
nent Fathers of their own church, Chrysostom, Epiphanius, 
Basil and others, were no advocates for worshiping images 
and pictures, or for honoring Mary as the mother of God. 

After the Greek revolution, the Turks were next engaged 
in a war with the Russians ; then it was that a Russian fleet 
blockaded the Dardanelles ; the armies of Nicolas crossed 
the Balkan mountains which the Turks had always thought 
to be an insurmountable barrier protecting them against all 
invasion from the north ; and soon to their utter amazement 
and dismay, a Russian General entered in triumph the 
gates of Adrianople, a city second in rank only to their 
capital itself. I say nothing of the merits of either party 
in that exciting war ; but its results were favorable to the 
spread of Christianity ; while it threw open the waters of 
the Black Sea, the straits of Constantinople and the Darda- 
nelles, to the merchants of all nations, it did much to re- 
strain Mohammedan bigotry and give security to Christian 
residents and missionaries in the realms of the Sultan. 

Next came the late ten years struggle with that remark- 
able man Mohammed Ali, Pasha of Egypt, which was not 



S84 THE UNITY OF HISTORT A?:D PROVIDENCE. 

fully terminated until the close of the year 1840. Its details 
will fill volumes of future histories ; including the victories 
and conquests of the celebrated warrior Ibrahim, sonof Ali, in 
Syria and Asia Minor; the fearful civil wars in the region of 
Mt. Lebanon, the melancholy seige of Beirut, and the ter- 
rible bombardment and capture of Acre ; it embroiled the 
affairs of Europe, Asia and Africa, and entangled Austria, 
England and France in the mazes and chicanery of a faith- 
less diplomacy ; but it led to results favorable to the pro- 
gress of true religion in the eastern world : it reduced the 
Turkish Sultan to a condition of real dependence on the 
Christian powers of Europe ; and the pressure of its diffi- 
culties was among the causes which induced the young 
prince to publish the Hatte Scheriff of 1839, an edict truly 
wonderful in a Mohammedan government, since it was a de- 
cree of universal toleration. Thii change bears directly on 
the progress of the gospel ; as previously to it, for a Moham- 
medan to renounce the Koran and become a Christian was 
a crime inexorably punished with death. The edict, it is 
true, has not been fully regarded. In the year 1843, a 
young man, who had previously apostatized from the, Arme- 
nian Church and embraced Mohammedism, but had subse- 
quently renounced it and avowed himself again a Christian, 
was cruelly beheaded by order of the grand Mufti. In 
1844 also, a young Bulgarian who had promised in a passion 
to become a Mussulman, but afterwards refused, was be- 
headed by authority of a firman issued by the government. 
These outrages called for the interposition of the Euro- 
pean ambassadors, who demanded and obtained of the Sul- 
tan a promise sealed by his own hand, that no one shall 
hereafter be put to death for renouncing Islamism. This is 
so great a change in Turkish policy, that some iijterpreters 
of the prophecies are inclined to look upon it as virtually 
the fulfillment of the Apostle John's prediction of the over- 



THE UNITY OF HISTORY AND PROVIDENCE. 385 

throw of the Mohammedan power. However, without em- 
bracing such a notion, we may be sure, that the various 
events of the late complicated struggle, have greatly con- 
tributed to break the chains of superstition among the Turks, 
and to introduce the light of modern civilization and science, 
and facilitate the propagation of pure Chiistianity in those 
interesting lands which continue under the dominion of the 
still so called Sublime Porte. 

Will the audience endure it, if we glance slightly at the 
recent changes in countries father east ? 

I have already adverted to the conquests of England in 
India commenced before the close of the last century. The 
power of one Asiatic prince after another has melted away 
under the burning grasp of English ambition. Mortal 
tongues probably cannot tell the story of the wrongs inflict- 
ed in this extension of sway by the nation whose present 
queen-monarch, dwelling upon a small isle of the Atlantic, 
is mistress of an Empire literally encircling the globe. But 
in the heartless destruction thus made among the kingdoms 
and dynasties of India, Burmah and Persia, the Christian 
is now able to perceive a way prepared for diffusing in 
those countries the blessings, which the gospel conveys 
wherever it goes. It may be agreeable to the feelings of 
my hearers, to receive on this point the testimony of one 
personally known to me, and perhaps to some of you as 
every way competent to judge. "The extension of Brit- 
ish power in Asia," says Mr. Perkins, in an intensely 
interesting volume, entitled Eight years Ivesidence in Per- 
sia, " the extension of British power in Asia, is another 
sign of the times auguring auspiciously for the spread of the 
gospel over that continent. I say this, not as a politician, 
but as a Christian philanthropist and a missionary, who has 
had abundant opportunity to observe and to feel the effect 
of British influence in the East. Wherever English power 

33* 



386 THE UNITY OF HISTOKT AND PROVIDENCE. 

prevails in Asia, it is in general no more certain, that there 
the rod of oppression is broken, the captive liberated, and 
the condition and prospects of the inhabitants vastly meli- 
orated, than that thei^e the Protestant missionary, and es- 
pecially the A?7ierican missionary, has an unfailing pledge 
of protection, encouragement and aid in his object a.nd 
labors ; and there only has he any such sure and permanent 
security. To the eye of the Christian observer, it is clear- 
ly not fortuitous chance, nor sagacity in the game of poli- 
tics, nor military skill or prowess, merely or mainly, that is 
placing so much of Asia under British control. It is the 
hand of Providence, the right arm of the God of missions." 
* * "Indeed, Providence seems to be extending and 
strengthening British influence in all parts of the v7orld,but 
especially in Asia, at the present time, exceptionable as is 
much of its policy and the character of many of its agents, 
yet on the whole as a radiant orb of light, the protector of 
Protestant missions, and the champion of pure Christianity. 
It is opening the proud gates of the Celestial Empire itself to 
the rich blessings of civilization and the inestimable boon of 
Christianity." 

In the closing sentence of this passage, Mr. Perkins al- 
ludes to the late victories of the English in China. 

I know not how unj Christian can justify the procedure of 
Great Britain in the Chinese war. It has indeed been 
pleaded, and by one of our ex- Presidents, that honored "old 
man eloquent," that China had for ages been maintaining a 
narrow, exclusive and unsocial policy, injurious both to her 
own best interests, and to those of other nations ; but, could 
that give the English any right to invade her territories, bom- 
bard her cities, and murdef her people ? England herself has 
to this day maintained restrictions upon commerce v.diich we 
of this country consider really injurious both to her and to the 
world ; does this, however, make it right for the United 



THE UNITY OF HISTORY AND PFOYIDENCE. 387 

States of America to concentrate their navy upon Liverpool, 
and march their armies upon London to demand of the 
queen, at the mouth of the cannon, a " reciprocity treaty ?" 
But whatever pleas may be urged, when it is remembered 
that one of the grand objects of that war was, evidently, to 
secure the gains of a vast and lucrative trade in a deadly 
narcotic, which the Chinese had resolved to banish from 
their country because it was destroying their morals and 
their strength, when this is remembered, the British war 
upon China assumes the aspect of most unrighteous and dis- 
honorable aggression. For aught I can see, should our 
rulers judge it best for the virtue and happiness of the 
American people, to take effectual measures for excluding 
from among us all intoxicating liquors, and of course the 
French brandy and wines, then France might just as prop- 
erly come with her fleet and burn our capital ; and should 
she beat us in a war thus waged upon us, and afterwards 
compel us not only to pay for all the alcohol we had refused 
to take, but also for all the expense and trouble she had in- 
curred in fighting us, it v\^ould be a procedure quite as just 
on her part, as it was for England to do as she did with the 
Chinese, and then impose upon them the tribute of twenty- 
one millions, as speciiied in the treaty of 1842. 

Had a stran2:er from a distant land broui^ht to your door 
a cup of delicious poison, and insisted on your buying it, 
and stood there with it, from da}' to day, until finally you 
were obliged to dash the cup from his hand to the ground 
and destroy its contents as the only way of keeping the poison 
from the mo\iths of your children, and he should then go 
and gather a pompous retinue to come thousands of miles in 
costly carriages, adorned in splendid uniform, with nodding 
plumes and glittering ornaments and armed with gold-moun- 
ted whips of silver cords, and, when they had lashed you 
and your children until some of them had actually died of 



388 THE UNITY OF HISTORY AND PROVIDENCE. 

the stripes, and you were pleading for mercy, he should con- 
sent to call off his band of heroic flagellators, only on con- 
dition that you would pay him in full the principal and in^ 
terest, both for the poison that you spilled and for all the 
cost of thus gloriously and magnificently chastising you, 
what would you say to the justice or the humanity of his 
deed ? 

Nevertheless, this very war upon China has led to results, 
which in various v/ays are contributing to the introduction 
and propagation of the gospel in vast regions of Eastern 
Asia. One of the immediate effects was the successful embas- 
sy from our own country to the self-styled Celestial Empire, 
the remote consequences of which embassy may be far more 
important to the future well-being of China, than any one 
now imagines. Nothing short of some great political change 
through foreign aggression or domestic revolution, could 
have secured the present opening for benevolent Christian 
effort within the limits of China, which contains a population, 
incredible as the number may seem, of thi-ee hundred and 
sixty millions — a population hitherto little known to us 
and, by their own supreme contempt for every thing foreign, 
or as they express it, " liot agreeing to the custom," shut in 
from all the peculiar light of American or Christian civili- 
zation almost as completely, as if surrounded by adamantine 
walls reaching to heaven. " I am constrained," says Dr. 
Parker, now so well known for his remarkable success in 
managing a Chinese hospital, speaking of the subject, " I 
am constrained to look upon this not so much as an opium 
or English affair, as a great design of Providence to make 
the wickedness of men subserve his purposes of mercy to- 
wards China in breaking through her wall of exclusion, and 
bringing the empire into more immediate contact with M^es- 
tern and Christian nations," 

Now in conclusionj as we review this historic glance, can 



THE UNITY OP HISTORY AND PROVIDENCE. 389 

we resist the evidence there is, that through the whole series 
of events from the beginning to the present time, one grand 
design of God has reigned supreme ? We have noticed some 
of the most important civil revolutions and changes recorded 
in history ancient and modern, and have seen that in obvi- 
ous respects they were actually subservient in advancing the 
sj)iritual kingdom of Christ. 

I confcBS, when I take such a glance, it reminds me of 
the prophetic declaration, " I will overturn, overturn, over- 
turn it, and it shall be no more, until he come, whose right 
it is, and I will give it him." And how delightful is it, when 
one looks over the history of the world and finds it to in- 
clude so many scenes of folly and crime, how delightful to 
the generous heart, to cherish the idea that the great first 
author of things reigns above the whole, and is not a mere 
indifferent spectator, or a perplexed and anxious superinten- 
dent, but a constant almighty director, evolving in exact 
accordance with hi^ own pleasure a glorious scheme of mer- 
cy for our race — that in all the confusion and turmoil and 
strife produced by the pride, ambition, lust and angry pas- 
sions of men, God is but overturning to accomplish an eter- 
nal plan of love ! 

And herein, as I freely confess, do I find the chief reason, 
for rejoicing in any civil or political revolutions — not simply 
because in one case I see the proud Sultan of the Turks 
humbled, in another a tyrannical monarch of France driven 
into exile, in another an Algerine freebooter dragged from 
his den, in another the Lord of the Celestial Flowery Em- 
pire compelled to admit foreign ambassadors without their 
knocking their heads seven times upon the floor in his pres- 
ence, in another the pretended successor of St. Peter forced 
to quake before a German monk, or cringe and fawn at the 
feet of a Corsican soldier, but chiefly, because I see through 
such events, a foreshadovring of the approach of the Kedeem- 



390 THE UNITY OF HISTORY AND PROVIDENCE. 

er, the desire of all nations, and thus obtain a new assurance 
that ultimately "the Lord's house shall be established on the 
top of the mountains, and all people flow unto it." 

" Hasten the day, just Heaven ! 
Accomplish thy design; 
And let the blessings thou hast freely given 
Freely on all men shine. 
Till equal rights be equally enjoyed 
And Roman power tor human good employed ; 

# # * * # 

And peace and virtue undisputed reign." 

May I be permitted to remark also, that the student of 
history needs the principle I have developed, to guide him 
in his researches. God's scheme of redemption by Jesus 
Christ, and his purpose to fill this world with the glory of it, 
must form the key to unlock the mysteries which thicken 
along the course of human affairs. No event is an isolated 
occurrence. Every transaction, every incident, has a mul- 
titude of connections and relations ; thus an affair apparent- 
ly the most trivial may really possess an importance and 
magnitude beyond all human ability to describe or conceive ; 
since by these relations it may send out its infiaence over 
countless worlds and down through ages unnumbered. Noth- 
ing can be insignificant where God has thus connected part 
with part, and arranged the whole in a fit and chosen com- 
bination and adaptation to subserve some great result. If 
the scholar, if any one, would duly grasp and master the 
comprehensive lessons of history, he must learn to recognize 
the hand of God as moving in every movement, and must 
constantly bear in mind that sublime issue which God has 
purposed to work out from the whole series and compass of 
civil and political changes. He who investigates without 
this guide, is like the man who would learn the import of 
some grand picture by looking in detail at its more incidental 



THE UNITY OF HISTORY AND PEOVIDENCE. 391 

accompaniments, or tlie objects painted on its bordeFj with- 
out once observing its chief figure. Says that racy author, 
archbishop Leighton, " as in great maps and pictures, you 
will see the border decorated with meadows, fountains, flow- 
ers and the like, but in the middle you have the design, so 
amongst the works of God is it with the foreordained redemp- 
tion of man. All his other v/orks in the world, all the 
beauty of his creatures, the succession of ages, and all the 
things that come to pass in them, are but as the border to 
this as the main -piece." 

To which I would add, were God but to give us an in- 
spired history of the past, complete in its details, the readers 
would soon discover how that great decree to set His King 
upon his holy hill of Zion, has from the beginning directed, 
controlled, and overruled, all the things that have com.e to 
pass in the succession of ages j the very events which might 
otherwise seem productive of nothing but unmingled evil, 
would be seen to stand in some interesting connection with 
that still future boundless good ; or should Christ again ap- 
pear to any of his sincere disciples, as he did to the two 
on their way to Emmaus, and apply the principle (now de- 
veloped) to any of the most perplexing periods or changes 
of human history, as he then did to the tale of treachery, 
avarice, pride, envy, cruelty and wantonness, connected with 
his own crucifixion, the hearers would soon find their hearts 
burning also with emotions of admiration, gratitude and 
love. 

I shall trespass no farther on the patience of this audience 
than just to otFer one additional thought, which is perhaps 
too important to be omitted. 

Since it is God's purpose to establish universally the spir- 
itual authority of Christ, we can see at once what must be 
the idtimate fate of all governments and all nations that do 
not properly submit to that authority. As God will over- 



S92 THE UNITY OF HISTORY AND PROVIDENCE. 

turn and overturn, until lie come whose right it is, what can 
possibly avert the ruin of such nations ? " Thou shalt break 
them with a rod of iron ; thou shalt dash them in pieces 
like a potter's vessel." 

In this view, with what a yearning interest must the 
Christian patriot think of the coming history of this our 
beloved country ! Oh ! what a career has she begun amid 
her high privileges and fearful responsibilities, lifted up as 
she has been by God to be a light and a hope to the whole 
world i But I must stop ! Peace be in all her borders, and 
joy and plenty in all her dwellings. As her eagle soareth 
upward, may it ever be toward the face of the sun of right- 
eousness ! 



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